Category: English

The company was planning a team-building retreat when Cody Francis, our newly hired administrative intern, approached me privately during lunch. “Simon, I heard your family owns that boutique eco-estate upstate. The company has a retreat next weekend—why don’t we host the picking event there?” He smiled, that slick, overly familiar smile of a young man who thought he could charm his way into anything. “We’re all colleagues, after all. The company will throw you a five-hundred-dollar stipend. Consider it a way to support your small business.” I stared at him, momentarily speechless. My estate, Linden Hills, is the premier private sanctuary in the valley. It’s an exclusive haven featuring luxury glamping, stone-fired grills, organic pick-your-own orchards, and private tasting pavilions. A single day pass costs $150 per person, let alone a private buyout. With over fifty people in our office, a weekend booking should have cost the company over fifteen thousand dollars. Yet here was Cody, trying to secure a full-scale corporate buyout for a measly five hundred bucks, expecting to walk away looking like a hero. I kept my voice polite but firm. “I’m sorry, Cody. The estate is fully booked and paid for by another client next weekend. The schedule is locked in; we can’t change it.” I thought that would be the end of it. But that very afternoon, Cody went completely rogue. He posted a high-profile announcement on the company’s main Slack channel and his personal social media. “Huge news, everyone! For this quarter’s retreat, we are heading to a private, luxury boutique estate upstate!” “Drop a reaction below to RSVP. Everything—food, drinks, activities, and fruit picking—is completely covered! Plus ones and family members are welcome!” The Slack channel exploded. Colleagues flooded the thread with praise, calling Cody a miracle worker for securing such an exclusive spot. Even our boss, Mr. Henderson, chimed in, praising his initiative and resourcefulness. Watching the screen light up with endless praise emojis, a cold weight settled in my stomach. He wanted to hijack my private property, use my life’s work to build his own reputation, and play the generous benefactor at my expense? He was about to learn that some lines aren’t meant to be crossed. … During the afternoon lull, Cody sent me a text. “Come on, Simon. Five hundred dollars for a small farm is a sweet deal. You aren’t losing anything here.” My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I let out a slow breath before typing back: “It’s not about the money, Cody. We have a legally binding contract. The other client paid a full deposit. If I breach it, the penalty is three times the booking fee. I can’t afford that loss.” A minute later, my phone vibrated. Cody was calling. The moment I answered, his tone had shed all its previous warmth, replaced by a patronizing, heavy-handed pressure. “Simon, the company has invested so much in you over the years. Where is your loyalty? Where is your gratitude?” I squeezed my eyes shut, keeping my voice level. “The estate was booked months in advance. We physically cannot host another group—” “Then tell the other client to reschedule,” Cody cut me off, his voice dripping with condescension. “Giving you this booking is a favor. We’re putting money in your pocket. Just get it done.” Before I could reply, the line went dead. Half an hour later, when Mr. Henderson asked for an update on the retreat logistics, Cody shared a series of high-res promotional photos of Linden Hills—photos he had lifted directly from our official website. One of the senior analysts, noticing the luxury branding, took a screenshot and posted it in the thread: “Wait, Cody. I looked up this place. Individual day passes are $150. For a group our size, a two-day retreat is going to blow our budget wide open.” Cody replied instantly, adding a smug little winking emoji. “Don’t worry, everyone! I worked my magic and negotiated a special rate. A flat five hundred dollars for the entire buyout. Everything is covered. Eat, drink, and be merry on the company’s dime!” The Slack channel erupted again. “Cody, you are incredible! How did you even pull this off? This place is practically impossible to book!” “Exactly! I’ve been trying to get a reservation there for my anniversary for six months! Five hundred dollars is insane!” Even Mr. Henderson posted: “Excellent work, Cody. Saving the company money while elevating our standards. This is exactly the kind of efficiency I love to see.” I stared at the screen, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. Using my sanctuary to paint himself as a corporate savior. It was sickening. I typed directly into the main channel: “The estate has been booked by another client for months. We need to find another venue for the retreat.” Instantly, the backlash started. “Simon, Cody already said it’s handled,” one of the account executives wrote. “What’s your issue? Are you just jealous because an intern is outshining you?” “Honestly,” another added. “If a luxury estate can offer a deal that cheap, what were those thousands of dollars we spent on Simon’s previous events actually going toward?” “Now that you mention it… did Simon take a kickback on those vendor fees?” Before I could type a defense, my phone rang. It was Cody again. “Simon, what the hell are you doing? I already told everyone it’s a go!” his voice hissed through the speaker. “Are you really going to hold out because of five hundred dollars? We’re colleagues. Why do you have to be so petty?” “I’ve made myself perfectly clear,” I said, my voice cold. “The estate is booked. There is no availability. Furthermore, the client who booked it is Kingsley—” “Then call them and ask them to move their dates!” Cody interrupted. “The company’s plans are locked in. Can’t you just cooperate for once and show some team spirit?” I was past the point of anger; now, it was just pure absurdity. During last year’s annual gala, I spent two months meticulously planning every detail. When Cody joined as an intern, he begged to help. Trusting him, I handed over the master execution schedule and vendor contacts. The event was a massive success. But when Mr. Henderson asked who designed the layout and secured the VIP catering, Cody swapped my name for his on the final presentation slides, claiming my two months of sweat and sleepless nights as his own. Back then, he had cornered me in the breakroom, saying: “Simon, if this gala goes well, I get a full-time offer. You understand, right? We’re team players.” I had let it go. I told myself he was young, struggling, and desperate to survive in the city. I chose peace over conflict. But now, the client who booked the estate for next weekend was Kingsley Holdings—our company’s largest and most critical account. And this intern wanted me to bump them so he could throw a cheap office party. I let out a soft, dry chuckle. “Fine. If you want them to reschedule, you pay the cancellation fee.” “How much?” Cody scoffed. “Not much. Just twenty-five thousand dollars. Wire me the funds, and I’ll clear the weekend for you.” There was a sharp gasp on the other end. “Simon! Are you trying to extort me? I’m doing this for the company! Why would I pay you twenty-five grand?” He slammed the phone down. Seconds later, a notification popped up on my screen. Cody had tagged the entire company on Slack. “@channel I’m so sorry, everyone. It seems Simon is refusing to let us host the retreat at the orchard. Since he’s the event coordinator, my hands are tied. We’ll have to follow his lead.” It was a masterclass in manipulation. He knew I kept my personal life private and had never told anyone at the office that I owned Linden Hills. With a few carefully chosen words, he had painted himself as the helpless victim and cast me as the bitter gatekeeper ruining everyone’s fun. The channel went wild. Diane from Finance was the first to fire: “Simon, this is deeply unprofessional. Cody went above and beyond for this team. Why are you dragging your feet and sabotaging his hard work?” Brad from Marketing immediately joined the dogpile: “Seriously. It doesn’t cost you a dime, and we get a beautiful retreat. Why are you blocking this?” Another colleague chimed in: “Let’s call it what it is. Some people have been sitting in their comfortable chairs too long without delivering results. He’s probably terrified Cody is going to take his manager title.” I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keys. I drafted a response, then deleted it. A moment later, a direct message from Mr. Henderson arrived, summoning Cody and Diane to his office. Five minutes later, my phone buzzed with the same summons. When I walked in, Mr. Henderson cleared his throat, leaning back in his leather chair. “Simon, you’ve been with us a long time. But I have to ask—why are you making things so difficult for our new talent?” Diane crossed her arms, nodding in agreement. “Cody managed to secure the county’s finest estate for five hundred dollars. In contrast, Simon, the budgets you’ve submitted for past retreats have been astronomical. It makes one wonder…” The implication hung heavy and foul in the air. I let out a harsh laugh. “So, you’re accusing me of embezzling company funds through vendor kickbacks?” Silence stretched across the room, but the suspicion in their eyes was unmistakable. The urge to burn it all down flared hot in my chest. I wanted to scream the truth in their faces. “You can’t go to that estate because I—” “Look, Simon,” Cody cut in smoothly, wearing a mask of mock sympathy. “We’re all on the same team here. Some things are better left unsaid. There’s no need to make a scene.” Mr. Henderson shot me a stern look. “Cody has organized this beautifully. Simon, you are to hand over all event responsibilities to him immediately. And given the discrepancies Diane has raised, we will be conducting a full audit of your past event accounts. Consider yourself suspended indefinitely, effective today.” I froze. Six years. Six years of working late nights, of leveraging my personal network to secure discounted rates for this company, of quiet loyalty. And it took an intern’s cheap lie to strip me of everything I had built. Before, when planning retreats, I had called in personal favors to get us premium venues at cost. Now, they suspected me of stealing, all while trying to bully me into giving up my own multi-million-dollar property for five hundred dollars. I clenched my fists, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Fine,” I said, my voice deadly quiet. “If you don’t believe me, run the audit. Review every receipt, every invoice, every transaction. If you find a single cent unaccounted for, I’ll pay you back tenfold.” Mr. Henderson sneered. “Don’t tempt me, Simon. Keep your pride; you’ll need it when the truth comes out.” I turned on my heel and walked out of the office. In the hallway, the hushed whispers of my colleagues followed me like a physical weight. I returned to my desk, opened my laptop, and began systematically organizing six years of vendor contracts, price comparisons, and bank statements. I remembered my first day here, fresh out of college, eager and naive. I had stayed because Henderson had promised that this company was a family, that loyalty would be rewarded. Over the years, I had quietly used Linden Hills as an unspoken perk, hosting our VIP clients there under the guise of “exclusive promotional partnerships” to help Henderson close deals. I never asked for credit. I just wanted to do my job. And this was my reward. “Simon, Mr. Henderson asked me to collect your transition files.” Cody was standing over my desk, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. Without a word, I sent the compiled archive to his inbox. He clicked through the files, then leaned down, lowering his voice so only I could hear. “You know, Simon, the boss is dead set on this audit. You and I both know you’ve been skimmin’ off the top of those big budget events.” He tapped his fingers on my desk. “But I’m a reasonable guy. If you make sure the estate is ready for us next weekend, I might just tell Henderson that I looked over the books myself and found nothing. We can make this whole audit business disappear.” I looked up at him, genuinely astonished by his sheer audacity. He actually believed his own lie. He thought I was a thief, and he was trying to blackmail me with it. Cody swaggered back to his desk. Within minutes, he posted a signup sheet on Slack, adding a bold note: “All staff are welcome to bring family and guests. Unlimited premium food, wood-fired barbecue, and fresh cherry picking—all fully covered by the company!” Within thirty minutes, the registration list exploded. With spouses, partners, and children, the headcount quickly climbed past a hundred. As the sun began to set, Cody walked back to my desk with a printed roster and a massive list of logistics. “Here’s the final count: one hundred and eight people. We’ll need premium beef, seafood, craft beers, and all the recreational gear ready by Friday morning. Consider this your chance to redeem yourself, Simon. Make sure it’s perfect.” I glanced at the paper, then looked him dead in the eye. “I told you. The estate is not available.” Cody’s smile curdled into a cold sneer. “Stop bluffing, Simon. If you don’t cooperate, I’ll make sure Henderson hands those audit files straight to the police. Let’s see how much your stubbornness is worth when you’re wearing handcuffs.” Seeing that I wasn’t reacting, he assumed I was cowed into submission. He turned back to the Slack channel, painting an elaborate picture of the upcoming weekend. “Get ready for the ultimate feast, everyone! Organic Rainier cherries and plums straight from the branch—all you can eat! We’ll have wagyu beef skewers, fresh oysters, and premium craft bars. Everything is prepped and ready!” The channel was a flurry of praise. “Cody is a legend! This is a massive step up from what Simon used to organize!” “Wagyu and oysters? This is incredible!” Even Mr. Henderson posted three thumbs-up emojis. I quietly packed my personal belongings into a cardboard box, shut down my computer, and walked out. The next morning, my first day of suspension, I stayed in bed. But at 8:00 AM, my phone began to buzz with texts from Cody. “Simon, I hope you’re upstate setting up. Make sure the premium meats are iced. The boss expects a flawless experience!” I stared at the screen, my patience entirely depleted. “I told you twice. The estate is closed to you.” I blocked his number immediately. I thought that would buy me some peace, but less than an hour later, my phone rang again. This time, it was Pete, the head caretaker of Linden Hills. “Mr. Simon! We have a major situation here!” Pete’s voice was strained, drowning out a loud, chaotic din in the background. “A massive caravan of cars—over a hundred people—just showed up! They claim they’re from your company and they’ve completely bypassed the security gate!” A chill ran down my spine. “What?” “And that’s not the worst of it,” Pete gasped, his voice trembling. “Mr. Kingsley from Kingsley Holdings is staying in the North Pavilion. He came out of his villa to find a crowd of strangers setting up portable grills right on his private lawn. He is furious, Simon.” I closed my eyes, taking a long, measured breath to steady my racing pulse. “Pete, listen to me. Apologize to Mr. Kingsley immediately. Tell him I am on my way. Then, call the staff and tell those trespassers to leave.” I hung up and threw on some clothes, but before I could grab my keys, Pete called back. This time, he sounded devastated. “Simon… they won’t leave. They’re ignoring us. Some of them ran into the young cherry orchard—they’re tearing off unripe green cherries by the handful and throwing them on the ground! They’ve already trampled and snapped dozens of the new Italian grafted saplings we planted last autumn!” My grip tightened around the steering wheel as I sat in my car. Those saplings. I had hand-selected them from a heritage nursery in Tuscany, waiting nearly a year for import clearance. “And Simon…” Pete’s voice dropped to a whisper. “A guy named Cody just knocked over the table in the pavilion. He shattered Mr. Kingsley’s bottle of Romanée-Conti.” I felt the blood drain from my face. “Get the security cameras running, Pete,” I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Record every single one of them. Do not engage. I’m calling the police.” I dialed 911. By the time I neared the local sheriff’s department, my phone was vibrating continuously. An unknown number was flashing on the dashboard. I pressed answer. Cody’s voice screamed through the speakers, frantic and breathless. “Simon! Where the hell are you?! The police just showed up and they’re arresting everyone!”

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And after three years of running, our paths crossed again during a raid. He was the brilliant young detective leading the task force; I was the fugitive wanted for murder across eight states. Our eyes locked, and for a fleeting second, Jacob’s composure shattered. “Maren… how is this you?” I tried to bolt during his moment of hesitation, but one of his officers shot me in the calf. Now, in the interrogation room, Jacob’s eyes are bloodshot as he slams his hands on the table and roars: “Four lives, Maren! Four people are dead! How could you do this?” “Tell me it’s a mistake! Say something! Please, just tell me it wasn’t you!” Looking at the agonizing betrayal in his eyes, I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “You’re right. It is a mistake.” “It wasn’t four.” “It was five.” “You care so much about your wife—my former best friend, Lola—don’t you? Tell me, Jacob, how haven’t you noticed she’s gone?” … Jacob’s face drains of all color. His hand trembles as he pulls out his phone. The lock screen, which used to be a picture of me, now features his wedding portrait with Lola. He hits speed dial. A second later, a melodic ringtone begins to drift from my jacket pocket. With a cruel, mocking smile, I slide the screen open and answer Lola’s blood-stained phone. “Hey, honey.” “Why aren’t you coming to save me? I’m so scared…” Jacob lunges across the table, grabbing me by the collar. “What did you do to Lola!” Just as the air begins to leave my lungs, the deputy chief rushes in and tears him off me. “Calm down, Detective! The press feed is live!” Jacob’s teeth grind together as he glares at me. “Where is she, Maren?” I shrug, the handcuffs rattling against the metal table. “I don’t know.” “If you’re smart enough to catch me, I’m sure you’re smart enough to find her.” “Maren Kelly!” His eyes are so red they look ready to bleed. “Lola loved you like a sister! When we were kids and those bullies cornered you, she was the one who stood in front of you.” “When your mother got sick and needed that specialist, Lola pulled strings to get her a bed. She took care of her every single day, doing more than you ever did.” “And when you couldn’t pay the medical bills, she emptied her own savings to keep your mother alive.” “Is this how you repay her?” On the side wall, the live-stream monitor is flooded with comments from the public watching the feed. “Oh my god, is that Dr. Ward from Mercy Hospital?” “I remember her! She was an absolute angel. When my dad was terminally ill and we couldn’t afford his meds, she bought them out of her own pocket.” “The good die young. This monster needs to rot in hell!” Faced with their outrage, I only sneer and turn my face away, refusing to look at the screen. My silence only fuels Jacob’s rage. He snatches a silver protection charm hanging from Lola’s phone case and hurls it onto the table in front of me. “Three years ago, just because your mother’s doctor asked me to consult on the case, you let your paranoia drive you mad. You accused Lola of trying to seduce me, and then you stabbed her!” “I had to arrest you myself. But Lola couldn’t bear to see you behind bars. She signed the waiver, begged the DA to drop the charges, and got you released. And what did you do? You ran. You vanished without a trace, leaving her sick with worry.” “This charm? Lola walked up the five hundred stone steps of the mountain chapel on her knees, praying for your safety. She prayed for you every single day while you were out there slaughtering four people—and then you came back for her!” Jacob’s voice cracks, his eyes wild with a desire to tear me apart. “Did you even care that your mother passed away while you were in custody?” “Lola ignored her own stab wound to assist in your mother’s emergency surgery. She stood in that operating room for twelve hours straight without a drop of water. When your mother didn’t make it, Lola broke down. She was the one who arranged the funeral because you weren’t there.” “She blamed herself! She took time off every year on the anniversary of your mother’s death just to put flowers on her grave. She did all of this for you, and this is how you repay her!” At the mention of my mother, my eyes sting with uncontrollable tears. Seeing my resolve crack, Jacob’s fists loosen slightly. The same hand that had once slipped an engagement ring onto my finger now rests heavily on my shoulder. “Maren, please. Where is she?” “If you show remorse now, I can talk to the prosecutor. I can get you a plea deal.” I look up, my tears turning into a bitter, mocking laugh. “A plea deal?” “Jacob, you’re the piece of trash who betrayed me. What makes you think you have the right to offer me mercy?” Jacob’s face burns a dark, furious crimson. The deputy chief, who had been taking notes, finally snaps. He slams his clipboard down and snaps: “That is enough!” “When Dr. Ward was stabbed, Detective Mercer only looked after her out of sheer guilt for what you did! He wanted to make sure she wouldn’t press charges so you wouldn’t spend a decade in state prison!” “After you fled, Jacob used every day of his paid leave to hunt for you. Even when Dr. Ward visited the precinct, it was always to ask if we had any leads on your whereabouts.” “You were gone for three years. Jacob’s father was dying of terminal cancer, and his only wish was to see his son settled. Out of pity, Dr. Ward suggested a mock wedding ceremony just to give a dying old man some peace of mind before he passed.” Jacob lets out a heavy, weary sigh and turns his back to me. The deputy chief glares at me, his finger practically poking my nose. “We couldn’t find you, and Dr. Ward had no one else. We were the ones who pressured Jacob to make it official and marry her, to give her the security she deserved after everything she lost.” “And this is how you paint him? You’re sick, Maren. You’ve lost your mind.” Jacob turns back, his face a portrait of profound sorrow. “Maren, do you want to know the real reason Lola and I had that mock wedding?” He steps closer, placing a silver wedding band heavily onto the table. “Lola knew you hated her. She didn’t want a misunderstanding to keep us apart forever, so she thought a high-profile wedding announcement would draw you out of hiding.” “Every single detail of that ceremony was designed around what you wanted. The dress you picked out years ago, the ring we chose—they were waiting backstage. She wanted to hand them over to you the moment you walked through the door.” “As for Lola? She wore a cheap, rented dress and a fake ring from a costume shop just to get through the ceremony. When you didn’t show, she posted the video online, hoping against hope that you’d see it and come home.” The live chat on the screen explodes again. “I remember that video! I thought it was so weird the bride was wearing such a cheap gown, and the ring was practically falling off her finger.” “People were ruthless in the comments, mocking her for marrying a guy who clearly didn’t love her.” “I was one of those commenters. God, I feel sick. We didn’t know anything.” Looking at the wedding ring on the table, my mind drifts back to three years ago. Jacob had just proposed to me. I had just finished my master’s degree and accepted a prestigious job offer. My mother’s health was finally stabilizing, and her discharge date was just around the corner. Drunk on happiness and the bright, shimmering future ahead, I had called Lola. “Lola! Jacob proposed!” “You’re my best friend in the world. You have to be my maid of honor! I want you right there next to me.” Lola had laughed and agreed instantly. After hanging up, the very first thing I shopped for wasn’t my bridal gown, but her bridesmaid dress. If only I hadn’t seen what I saw. If only I had remained blind. Instead, the ring that was meant for my ring finger had been replaced by cold, heavy steel handcuffs. The man who used to hold me tight and whisper that I was his entire world was now standing on the opposite side of a bulletproof glass. Demanding I tell him where to find the woman who ruined everything. “Maren, if you have even a shred of humanity left in you, tell me where Lola is.” I close my eyes tight, a tear finally escaping and cutting a path through the grime on my cheek. “The cemetery columbarium. Section A, Row 3, Niche 2. What you’re looking for is in there.” The police move with terrifying speed, cordoning off the cemetery within minutes. But when they force open the niche, there are no ashes inside. Only a thin, lightweight manila folder. Jacob slams the folder onto the interrogation table. “Maren, are you playing games with us? Are you just trying to buy time?” The deputy chief touches his shoulder. “Jacob, let me take over. If Dr. Ward is still alive, every second counts. Go with the team and search the area. Sitting here in circles is wasting precious time.” As Jacob hesitates, I tilt my chin up toward him. “Aren’t you going to look inside?” Jacob pulls on a pair of latex gloves and opens the folder. Inside is a voluntary organ donor authorization form. The edges of the paper are stained with a faint, rust-colored smudge of dried blood, but nothing is as jarring as my mother’s shaky, uneven signature at the bottom. Jacob’s brow furrows. “Maren, what is this supposed to prove?” “Do you honestly think your mother was coerced into signing this? I was there, Maren! It wasn’t like that at all!” “Lola didn’t even bring the paperwork. A floor nurse happened to mention the donor program, and your mother requested the forms herself!” The dam inside me finally breaks. “My mother requested it? Jacob, you’ve been a detective for five years, and you’re still this blind?” For the first time, the live-stream comments begin to turn. “Wait… did the doctor trick her mother into signing her organs away, and then let her die on the table?” “That is terrifying. If that’s true, I don’t blame her for snapping. Who could stay sane after that?” “And what about the other four victims? Weren’t they all connected to the organ transplant network? This goes deep.” “Put yourself in Maren’s shoes. Your best friend kills your mother for profit, your fiancé marries the killer, and then he’s the one interrogating you after you get your revenge. This is a tragedy.” Jacob glances at the monitor, his expression tightening. He opens his mouth to argue. Suddenly, the heavy door of the interrogation room is thrown open. “Chief! We have a major break!” An officer stands panting in the doorway. “Maren spent the last three years operating across the border. According to intelligence reports, she was heavily involved in an international black-market organ trafficking syndicate!” The words hit the room like a physical blow. Jacob snaps his gaze back to me, his jaw clenching so hard I can hear his teeth grind. “You are a magnificent actress, Maren. I almost believed you.” “You were the one who brainwashed your mother into signing that form, weren’t you?” “You’re running a black-market ring. You killed your own mother to frame Lola, and then you slaughtered those doctors to cover your tracks. Are you even human?” On the screen, the public chat erupts into a feeding frenzy. “Oh my god, Maren is the ringleader?!” “So she forced her mom to sign, let Dr. Ward handle the surgery, and then murdered the medical staff so no one could talk!” “This is insane. She’s a monster.” Looking at the screen, a breathless, hysterical laugh escapes my throat, tasting of copper and despair. Jacob staggers back, barely able to keep his balance. “Maren… do you have anything to say for yourself?” I raise a hand and wipe the corner of my eye. “What’s the point? You’ve already written the ending.” The deputy chief stands up, his voice cold. “Take her back to holding. All units, assemble. We search for Dr. Ward now.” Jacob doesn’t move. As the guards grab my arms and pull me past him, his hand twitches, reaching out toward me for a fraction of a second. But in the end, he says nothing. It takes forty-eight hours of grueling, round-the-clock searching. But they find her. What was left of Lola was buried in the plot right next to my mother’s grave. She had been folded into a tight, terrible ball, her limbs and spine systematically shattered. If you looked closely, you could see she had been forced into a kneeling position, her forehead pressed against the dirt—a forced posture of eternal, desperate begging. The deputy chief turns away, his face pale. “She’s an absolute animal…” Jacob collapses onto the grass, completely blacking out. The medical examiner’s report is brief: “The victim’s major organs were surgically removed.” I hadn’t lied when I said I didn’t know where she was. Because every piece of her was in a different place. When the trial begins, Jacob is dressed in a dark suit. He sits in the gallery alongside the families of the other victims. I keep my eyes lowered as the prosecutor reads the indictment. “…The defendant, Maren Kelly, did willfully and with malice aforethought commit five counts of first-degree murder, resulting in the immediate deaths of the victims.” “Furthermore, over a three-year period, the defendant participated in over four hundred black-market organ transactions across borders, causing severe societal harm.” “Defendant, you may now present your statement.” I remain silent. The gallery erupts into a chorus of angry shouts. “What is there to say? She’s a plague on society!” “My son studied for a decade to become a surgeon! She didn’t just murder him, she dragged his name through the mud!” “Five doctors! She slaughtered five doctors! She’s a monster! Give her the needle!” They hold up framed photographs of the deceased, their faces flushed with grief and fury. The gallery is a sea of flashing camera lights, burning my retinas. I open my mouth, but my throat feels as though it has been filled with concrete. It is an old affliction of mine—whenever my emotions spike, my voice simply deserts me. Lola knew this. Jacob knew this. It was why Lola used to fight my battles for me when we were children. I look toward Jacob. But he is swallowed by the crowd, his face unreadable. A couple of rotten eggs and small stones fly over the partition, striking me in the forehead. Warm blood trickles down, staining my vision a dark, sticky red. I turn back to the judge and slowly shake my head. When the verdict is read, and the judge sentences me to death, a cheer ripples through the courtroom. Grieving families cling to one another, weeping with relief. The judge looks down at me. “Defendant, you have the right to appeal this sentence. Do you understand?” The words won’t come. I only nod, then shake my head. The gavel falls. A final, heavy thud. I close my eyes. “Lola, you won.” As the guards began to lead me out of the courtroom, Jacob instinctively lunged forward. But the surging crowd of jubilant families swept him toward the exit. Reporters, waiting like vultures, thrust their microphones into his face. “Detective Mercer! You personally brought down the woman who murdered your wife. How does it feel to hear the death sentence?” “We understand the killer was your former fiancée. How do you reconcile that?” Jacob felt a tight band constrict his throat. He couldn’t squeeze out a single syllable. In that sudden, suffocating silence, a memory flashed through his mind. Three years ago, when Maren had reportedly stabbed Lola, she hadn’t said a single word in her defense either. The more desperate Maren was to explain, the more her voice failed her. Jacob’s face went white. “Get back to the station,” he barked at the deputy chief, his voice strained. “Pull the evidence from three years ago. The knife, the forensic files, Lola’s original medical reports. All of it!” “Now!” Briggs didn’t understand the sudden urgency, but the raw panic in Jacob’s eyes left no room for argument. When the files were delivered to his desk, Jacob pored over every line, refusing to skip a single letter. By the time he finished, his eyes were bloodshot, and he slammed his fist onto the desk. “File an emergency stay! Maren’s conviction is wrong!”

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For seven years, Brian and I were a couple, and for those same seven years, my best friend Cassie acted as my unofficial relationship strategist. Whenever Brian pulled all-nighters in the lab and I sat up crying, clutching my phone, Cassie would gently stroke my hair. “Iris, don’t crowd him,” she’d say softly. “Every late night Brian pulls is just him building a secure future for the two of you.” Whenever we drifted into cold silences after a fight, Cassie would sit beside me, holding my hand, helping me pick out the perfect text or meme to break the ice. I was always clumsy with words. When I misspoke and upset him, Cassie would worry more than I did, staying up half the night drafting long, eloquent paragraphs for me to send. I genuinely believed I was the luckiest girl in the world, surrounded by the two people who loved me most. Until the night before our wedding, when I stumbled upon an anonymous social media account. “I’ve been my best friend’s relationship coach for seven years. But every single word I taught her to say to him was actually what I wanted to tell him myself.” “A secret kept for seven years. In the end, I only ever dared to speak to him through her voice.” The profile picture was a little plush rabbit with one floppy ear—the exact one I had hand-sewn and given to Cassie for her birthday last year. The top comment felt like a blade slicing through me, making my blood run ice-cold. The user’s avatar was a microscope keychain—one I had spent an entire afternoon helping Brian pick out. The username was his childhood nickname. Brian’s reply read: “Silly girl. I’ve always known.” … My limbs went entirely numb, as if the warmth had been vacuumed right out of my bones. The bedroom door clicked open, and Cassie walked right in. She was holding a delicate bridal hairpiece, leaning in to test it against my hair. “Iris, becoming a bride and a mother all at once… other women would kill for this kind of luck.” She tilted her head, admiring her work, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “You have to wear this for your first prenatal checkup tomorrow, and then for the wedding the day after. I stayed up for two nights straight sewing this by hand!” I stared into Cassie’s bright, shining eyes, feeling a sharp, physical pinch in my chest. After a long, heavy silence, I finally forced the words out. “Cassie… have you ever thought about getting married? Finding someone who truly loves you?” Her fingers froze in my hair. She stood still for what felt like an eternity before slowly letting her hand fall to her side. When she looked down, her voice dropped to a whisper. “No. Not for me.” “I’m just going to stay right here and look after you, Iris. When the baby is born, I’ll be her godmother. If it’s a girl, I’ll make her little dresses, braid her hair, and take her out for ice cream.” She forced a carefree laugh, but the rims of her eyes had already flushed a painful red. In that split second, the words from that anonymous post flashed violently in my mind: “I loved him in secret too, all through our three years of high school. But on the day of our college entrance exams, a truck came barreling out of nowhere. My best friend pushed both of us out of the way, nearly dying under the wheels herself. The moment she woke up in the hospital, she confessed her love to him. How could I ever steal him from her after that?” Those sentences wrapped around my throat like a wire, tightening with every breath. The door swung open again. Brian walked in, still wearing his white lab coat. Cassie sprang up instantly, spreading her arms to block him. “Hey! That coat is filthy from the lab. Don’t you dare bring those chemicals near our pregnant Iris!” Brian didn’t even register her mock defense. His eyes were wide, burning with a frantic, euphoric energy, locked entirely on Cassie from the moment he crossed the threshold. “Trial eighteen, Cassie! I finally replicated the results!” “I’ve been chasing this since last summer. Eighteen trials. Seventeen failures in a row, and today we finally did it!” He didn’t use her name, but I knew. Every word, every ounce of excitement, was directed solely at her. Since we started college seven years ago, everyone had called Brian and Cassie the twin stars of the chemistry department. I was just an English major. Whenever Brian tried to explain his research to me, it sounded like a foreign language. Every time he saw my blank, confused expression, he would just smile with a gentle, patronizing sigh and pat my head. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, sweetie. You must be starving. Let’s go get some cake.” Cassie, however, was far more composed. She turned to grab the logbook off the desk. “Did you double-check the reagent concentration? What about the temperature curve? Did you record the raw data?” “I’ll run a quality check tonight. If everything looks solid, I’ll have the first draft of the paper ready for you by the day after tomorrow.” She kept moving, naturally pouring a cup of coffee and handing it to him. Brian slipped out of his lab coat and handed it backward without even looking. Cassie caught it seamlessly, draped it over the chair, and smoothed out the wrinkles in the sleeves. Their coordination was flawless. They didn’t look like colleagues; they looked like a married couple. It was only then that Cassie seemed to remember, tapping her temple with an apologetic gasp. “Oh, goodness, my memory is shot. The day after tomorrow is your wedding.” “Go focus on that. I’ll write the paper and compile the data tonight.” Brian frowned. “The wedding can wait. Iris isn’t going anywhere.” “Let’s get the paper written first while the data is fresh. If we wait a few days, we might lose our train of thought.” Only after saying this did he finally turn his gaze to me. His eyes lingered on me for a fraction of a second, his face softening into a practiced, apologetic smile. “Iris, we’ve been working on this experiment for a year.” “This is a critical window. Could you possibly…” A dull, suffocating ache bloomed in my chest. This was the seventh time Brian had asked to postpone our wedding. The first time, he said his thesis proposal was too demanding. The second time, he needed to replicate a dataset. The third, he was drafting a paper. The most recent time, the guests were already seated. Brian had called, panicking, claiming there was a minor chemical explosion in the lab and he had to rush Cassie to the emergency room. I waited in my wedding dress for seven and a half hours. Brian never showed up. When I finally rushed to the hospital, I found out Cassie had only sustained a tiny scratch from a shattered test tube. “Iris?” Cassie called out, her voice laced with concern at my silence. She turned back to Brian. “Forget it. The wedding comes first. Don’t be so stubborn.” They both stared at me—one pair of eyes filled with guilt, the other with pity. I felt a wire snap inside my chest. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice shockingly level. “Finish the paper.” I barely slept. I lay awake, counting my breaths until the sun rose. The next morning, Brian walked in, carrying a warm glass of milk out of habit. “I was supposed to take you to your prenatal checkup today,” he said softly, “but Cassie is going in to double-check the results. She’s the only one who can spot any anomalies in the data, and I just can’t risk it.” He reached out, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I’m sorry you have to go alone, Iris.” “Just this once. Once this paper is published, I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’ll be by your side every day.” His eyes were full of tender regret. But all I could see was his reply on that anonymous thread: Silly girl, I’ve always known. But she’s pregnant, and I have to take responsibility. A lump of dry cotton seemed to lodge in my throat. “Brian, actually, we…” We don’t have to get married, I wanted to say. But Brian stood up abruptly, as if sensing the words before they could form. “I know what you’re going to say, Iris. Don’t worry. This is the last delay. I promise the next date will stick.” He knelt down to slide my shoes onto my feet. “Be careful out there. Call me if you need anything.” He ushered me into a cab and gave my stomach a gentle, absentminded pat. My mind was in a haze. By the time I snapped out of it, I had walked straight to Brian’s research facility instead of the clinic. On his desk sat a framed photo of him and Cassie holding a trophy from an international chemistry competition. Scattered nearby were two custom insulated mugs—one navy blue, one pastel pink—both engraved with the same molecular structure. From down the hallway, the sound of female grad students laughing and chatting drifted closer. “Today marks day 1,753 of Professor Brian and Dr. Cassie showing up to the lab together!” “I know, right? Five years, arriving and leaving together every single day. They’re more codependent than me and my boyfriend.” The other girl lowered her voice, dripping with excitement. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it. The night before last, I walked past his office. They were kissing like their lives depended on it.” “I saw it through the crack in the door. He was holding her by the waist, and she was up on her tiptoes. It made me blush just watching them!” My heart felt as though it had been seized by a frozen hand and dragged into an abyss. The night before last, I had suffered severe cramps from the pregnancy. I had curled into a ball on our bed, calling Brian three times in a panic. He had answered briefly, telling me he was in the middle of a crucial run and that I should just take some over-the-counter medicine and bear with it. The students noticed me. A girl in a lab coat frowned. “Who are you? Which department are you with? Why are you lingering outside Professor Brian’s office?” I opened my mouth, but my throat felt like sandpaper. No sound came out. “Ah, I get it. You’re the volunteer for the clinical study, right?” Before I could correct her, she grabbed my arm and shoved me into the adjacent testing room. “Wait, listen to me,” I rasped. “I’m not a volunteer. I’m Brian’s—” “We’re on a tight schedule,” a lab tech interrupted without looking up from a clipboard. “Go behind the curtain and change into the gown. Strip down completely.” Before I could protest, she aggressively unzipped my jacket and handed me a thin hospital gown, urging me to hurry. The cold drafts of the lab hit my bare skin, making me shiver violently. Just then, chaos erupted in the corridor. “Gas leak! Toxic chemical exposure! Evacuate immediately!” I scrambled to grab my clothes, but before my fingers could touch them, the lab door was thrown open. A pair of hands grabbed my bare arm and hauled me out. The force sent me sprawling onto the cold, hard tiles of the hallway, my knees barking against the floor. It was the same student who had been gossiping about Brian and Cassie. Now wearing a gas mask, she glared down at me. “You’re the only unfamiliar face here. Did you cause this leak? Are you trying to ruin our research?” I was practically naked, shivering in nothing but my underwear. People were sprinting past in a panic. I curled in on myself, desperately crossing my arms over my chest to hide my body, huddling against the wall. “It wasn’t me! I’m Brian’s—” “Shut up!” she snapped, her foot catching me sharply in the thigh. I gasped at the sudden pain. “Who do you think you are, calling Professor Brian by his first name?” I stared at her, my throat tight as if clogged with wet cotton. For seven years, Brian had insisted we keep our relationship quiet, claiming office politics and academic rumors would destroy his career. He had even made me sign a pre-marital confidentiality agreement, promising we would go public once his tenure was secured. Just then, heavy footsteps echoed from the far end of the hall. Brian sprinted around the corner, carrying Cassie in his arms. Her face was deathly pale, her limp body cradled securely against his chest. “Call an ambulance!” Brian screamed, his voice raw. “Take her to St. Jude’s Private Wing!” I froze. St. Jude’s was the most exclusive private medical wing in the city, reserved strictly for elite research staff and high-ranking officials. The day my pregnancy was confirmed, I had timidly asked Brian if I could deliver our baby there. He hadn’t even looked up from his monitor. “I can’t pull strings for that, Iris. It’s a restricted medical facility, not a public clinic for just anyone.” Yet here he was, carrying Cassie, shouting the name of St. Jude’s without a second thought. The sheer terror on his face was something I had never witnessed in our seven years together. Not even when I was throwing up blood from morning sickness, and he had merely patted my head and sighed, “It’s completely normal, Iris. Don’t be dramatic. Just drink some ginger tea.” Now, with Cassie merely looking slightly faint, he looked like his world was ending. Suddenly, Cassie’s eyes closed, her head lulling back. Brian halted in his tracks and gently laid her down on the hallway floor. He looked up, his voice cutting through the panic with absolute authority: “Turn around. All of you.” The surrounding staff instantly spun around, facing the walls. He knelt, unbuttoned Cassie’s collar, and pressed his long, elegant fingers against her chest. Then, he leaned down, pressed his lips to hers, and began performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I suddenly remembered the first time I had leaned in to kiss him. He had laughed, tilting his head back. “Go brush your teeth first, babe. You know I’m a germaphobe.” Once Cassie’s breathing steadied, Brian finally sat back, chest heaving. It was only then that his eyes swept across the floor and landed on me. “Professor!” the student yelled, pointing directly at me. “This woman was sneaking around. I think we should call security and have her arrested!” A flicker of shock crossed Brian’s eyes. He took a tentative step toward me. But right then, Cassie groaned in pain, her fingers feebly clutching at his sleeve. Brian froze. He looked down at Cassie, then looked back at me, mouthing three silent words: Go on home. He turned to the student. “I know her. Don’t worry about it. Just call her an Uber and send her home.” With that, he scooped Cassie back into his arms, holding her close to his chest, and hurried down the corridor. I remained curled on the freezing tiles, a sharp, rhythmic cramping starting to bloom deep in my lower abdomen. The student stood over me, her expression thick with disgust. “Don’t think you’re special just because the professor knows you. Who are you putting on this show for? Get up!” I gritted my teeth, pushing my trembling hands against the floor to lift myself. My arms buckled, and I collapsed back down with a dull thud. She watched me struggle and fall half a dozen times before finally scowling and taking a step closer. “Seriously, stop playing victim. Everyone’s gone. Who are you acting for?” She squatted down, studying my contorted face with a cold sneer. “To be honest, I’ve seen plenty of girls try this sick-act routine just to get Professor Brian’s attention.” She stood back up, brushing the dust from her hands. “Save your breath. Seven years ago, the professor swore an oath to his mentor that Cassie was the only woman he would ever love. He doesn’t have eyes for anyone else.” Brian’s parents had passed away when he was young, and he had always viewed his mentor as a father. During our years together, I had asked countless times to meet him. Every time, Brian would frown, his voice laced with a cool distance: “You’re not part of our academic circle, Iris. Let’s not make things awkward. You wouldn’t have anything to talk about anyway.” I had foolishly assumed he wanted to keep his personal life separate from work. Now I knew the truth. His heart had been occupied from the very start. The physical pain began to blur with the emotional agony until my vision started to spot with black. The last thing I felt was a sudden, terrifying rush of warmth spreading beneath me. Through the static in my ears, I heard the student’s panicked shriek. “Hey! Don’t play dead! Hey! Wait… blood? She’s bleeding! Oh my God, somebody help!” On the other side of the hospital, Brian stayed by Cassie’s bedside until she woke up. For four full days, I didn’t send him a single text. In seven years, such a silence had been unimaginable. Initially, Brian felt a sense of relief. But the quiet didn’t bring peace; within hours, a slow, gnawing dread began to pool in his chest. The anxiety had actually taken root the moment he stumbled upon Cassie’s post and couldn’t stop himself from replying. Ever since, he had noticed me slipping away, lost in my own thoughts. He just hadn’t known how to face me—or how to handle Cassie. Now, Cassie was awake. Since his reply on the thread, they had tacitly avoided being alone together—until this moment. The room was deathly quiet, save for the rhythmic beep of the monitor. Cassie broke the silence first, her voice raspy, her eyes fixed on the hospital blanket. “Is the… is the wedding still on?” Brian hesitated. After a long pause, he gave a stiff nod, his voice dry. “We should go through with it. After all… it’s been seven years.” But as the words left his mouth, a sudden tremor shook his chest. He had spent years believing his heart belonged to Cassie. He knew the thoughtful gestures, the perfectly timed words of comfort—none of them could have originated from a girl as clumsy and simple as me. Yet, somewhere along the line, he had fallen in love with more than just those borrowed phrases. He suddenly, desperately wanted to see me. “Get some rest. I need to check on Iris,” he said, standing up. He didn’t notice the way Cassie’s face drained of color as he turned and walked out. His pace quickened, driven by an urgency he had never felt before. When he arrived back at the chemistry building, a small group of grad students was huddled at the end of the hall, whispering. “God, it was terrifying. There was so much blood. She started convulsing right there on the floor. Does anyone know if she’s okay?” Another student shook her head. “No idea. Someone said her heart stopped by the time the paramedics loaded her in. She was completely cold. Who even was she? How did the professor know her?” Brian stood frozen around the corner, as if struck by lightning, his body turning to ice.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “537542”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

On our tenth wedding anniversary, Clyde got a sudden, urgent call from a client. As he slipped on his Oxfords in the foyer, I leaned against the doorframe, watching him. “If you pass by that new place on the way back, could you grab me one of those honeydew melon pudding teas? The ones everyone’s posting about online?” His brow furrowed instantly, a shadow of irritation crossing his face. “The boba shop is completely out of the way, Naomi. Why do you want that sugary, artificial junk anyway? You’re not a little girl anymore.” Before the words had even fully settled in the quiet air of our hallway, he was out the door. I stood there in the silence of the empty house, the memory of the search history I’d accidentally seen open on his laptop screen an hour ago flashing in my mind: “How to make the perfect honeydew melon pudding tea at home.” “Best designer heels in a women’s size 6.” “Which app is fastest for buying Olivia Rodrigo tickets?” And just like that, the puzzle pieces clicked into place. His mistress was a girl who drank honeydew custard tea, wore a delicate size 6, and screamed along to Olivia Rodrigo. Meanwhile, my own search bar contained only a single, devastating query: “Late-stage stomach cancer: How to plan end-of-life care and make the most of my remaining time with my spouse?” I went back to the computer, hovered the mouse over the screen, and quietly cleared the history. Then, in the silent, empty spaces of my heart, I began the slow, agonizing process of erasing my ten years with Clyde. … Clyde had forgotten about the tracking app. Six months ago, as part of a family plan promotion with our insurance company, we had both installed a locator app that allowed real-time tracking and ambient audio sharing. At the time, he’d been too busy typing away on his phone to pay any attention to the installation. I opened the app. His icon was glowing red, docked near the arts district. I grabbed my keys, got into my car, and drove toward the blinking dot. The queue outside the trendy new boba joint stretched down the block. Right in the middle of the crowd stood Clyde, standing next to a young girl. She had soft features and bright eyes—she looked so much like a younger version of me that it made my chest ache. She was gesturing animatedly, laughing, sharing some joke with him. Clyde was looking down at her, a gentle, patient smile playing on his lips. It was a look of pure, undivided attention. A look I hadn’t received from him in years. I parked across the street, gripping the steering wheel as a cold numbness washed over me. I pulled out my phone and texted him. “Did you meet up with the client?” “Yeah, just about to head into the conference room. Turning my phone off now,” he replied almost instantly. As soon as the message sent, he slipped his phone into his pocket. Then, he stepped closer to the girl, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. On my dashboard, the tracking app’s listening indicator glowed red. The ambient audio streamed through my car speakers with agonizing clarity. “Hey, old man,” her voice was light and teasing. “Is the aging wife checking up on you again? God, older women are so clingy. Maybe we should buy her a tea to quiet her down.” “No need,” Clyde’s voice was cool, dismissive. “She doesn’t care for this kind of stuff anyway. It’s not her style.” “Not her style.” The words cut like a jagged blade. Back in college, he used to drive across three county lines just to buy me the maple fudge I loved, even if it was half-melted by the time he brought it to my dorm. Everyone said he spoiled me to death, but he’d just laugh, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “I have to spoil you, Naomi. That way, you’ll never let anyone else steal you away. You’ll always be my girl.” But now, when I asked for a simple drink, he lied and said it was out of his way, only to queue up with another woman and tell her I was too old for it. A sudden, violent cramp seized my stomach. I slumped over the steering wheel, dry-heaving as a wave of excruciating pain ripped through my abdomen, threatening to tear my insides apart. The phone buzzed in my hand. It was my oncologist. I tried to swipe to answer, but my fingers were stiff and weak. The phone slipped, tumbling into the dark gap beneath the driver’s seat. By the time I managed to retrieve it, the line had gone dead. When I looked back up across the street, they had gotten their drinks. They were sharing a single straw, taking turns, laughing as they tasted each other’s cup. In our ten years of marriage, if I so much as used his fork to taste his food, Clyde would meticulously wipe it down with a napkin twice before using it again. I watched them walk hand-in-hand toward the boutique hotel down the block. I raised my phone, snapped a clear photo of their retreating backs, and sent it to a private investigator friend. “Find out who she is.” That evening, Clyde walked through the front door, rubbing his temples, his voice thick with rehearsed exhaustion. “God, that negotiation took everything out of me. My throat is completely dry.” I sat quietly at the dining table. The elaborate dinner I’d spent all afternoon preparing—full of his favorite dishes—had gone cold hours ago. He glanced at the table, then at me. “Why haven’t you eaten anything?” “I wasn’t hungry without you.” He stiffened slightly. Then, softening, he walked over and wrapped his arms around my shoulders, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “I’m sorry, babe. Work has just been crazy. I’ll make up our anniversary to you, I promise. Whatever you want, name it.” I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, my phone buzzed in my lap. It was the report from my investigator. “May Collins. 22. Senior at State University.” Ten years younger than Clyde and me. No wonder she called him “old man” and me “the aging wife.” My investigator had also unlocked her private blog. The most recent post showed her lying on a plush hotel bed, her wrists pinned above her head by a man’s hand—a hand with prominent veins and a silver wedding band I knew intimately. The caption read: “Nothing tastes sweeter than the honeydew tea Clyde makes for me. Can’t wait for him to feed me again next time.” I scrolled down. There were dozens of entries. “I told him my stomach hurt, and Clyde literally abandoned his wife at her doctor’s appointment to drive across town and hold me.” “Clyde loves kissing me. He says I smell sweet and fresh, like nothing his wife could ever offer.” “I asked him when he’s going to leave her. He just laughed and said I’ll always be his sweet little girl. Honestly, who cares about a marriage certificate anyway? I don’t need a piece of paper to know he’s mine.” I stared at the screen for a long time. The ringing of my phone broke the silence. It was my oncologist again. “Naomi, the pathology results are back. The cancer cells have already metastasized. We need to start aggressive treatment immediately. I have a targeted chemotherapy protocol…” I stared at the bathroom door, where the sound of the shower was running, casting Clyde’s silhouette against the frosted glass. “Dr. Foster,” I whispered, my voice incredibly flat. “I don’t want the treatment.” “What?” Dr. Foster sounded panicked. “But you’re so young. Naomi, we still have options—” I looked at the shadow of the man I had loved for a decade and let out a faint, self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not that young, Doctor. I’m just an old lady.” That night, Clyde was exhausted. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep, heavy sleep. The next morning, as he was buttoning his shirt, he casually asked, “By the way, your checkup from last week… I had to rush off in the middle of it, but did the lab results ever come back?” I paused, folding his laundry. “Yes. Everything is fine.” He nodded, grabbing his briefcase. “Clyde,” I called out, stopping him at the door. “Would you take me to get that honeydew melon tea today? Just once. I really want to try it with you.” His forehead creased, his patience wearing thin. “Are you still on about that? I told you, it’s artificial syrup. If you want it that badly, go buy it yourself. I have a company to run.” “But I want you to go with me.” His phone buzzed in his hand. He looked down at the screen, and I watched his expression instantly soften, a faint smile touching his lips. When he looked back up at me, his tone had sweetened. “Well, it’s your lucky day. The office ordered that exact boba place for afternoon catering today. If you want some, stop by the office later and grab a cup.” My heart gave a faint, hollow flutter. “Okay.” I arrived at his office downtown around noon. In the breakroom, employees were happily picking up their catering cups, but Clyde was nowhere to be found. I walked down the quiet hallway to his private office and pushed the heavy door open. It was empty. On his desk sat a single cup of honeydew melon pudding tea, the plastic straw visibly chewed at the tip. Then, from behind the built-in mahogany bookshelves, I heard a faint, unmistakable sound—a soft, breathless giggle, followed by a low moan. “Oh, Clyde… I can’t believe you actually built a secret room back here. And this waterbed is amazing. You spoil me so much.” “Well, you’re a demanding little thing,” his voice was thick with desire. “I don’t have a choice.” “What if your boring old wife finds out about our secret nest?” “Don’t talk about her,” Clyde groaned softly. “Focus on me.” The sound of heavy breathing and wet, frantic kissing filled the quiet office. A sharp, cold pain pierced my chest. Three years ago, when I was still working as his operations director, I’d mentioned that my back was aching from the stiff office chairs and asked if we could put a small loveseat in his office. He hadn’t even looked up from his spreadsheet. “Don’t be so dramatic, Naomi. This is a place of business, not a hotel.” Yet here he was, expanding his entire office layout, hiding a secret bedroom behind the shelves just to please May. I realized then that my displacement hadn’t been sudden. He had been quietly pushing me out of his life, piece by piece, for years. “M-Mrs. Hale!” Clyde’s assistant stood at the door, holding a stack of files, looking as though he’d just seen a ghost. I fought down the sudden, violent surge of nausea rising from my stomach. I gave him a faint shake of my head. “Don’t tell him I was here.” But the moment I stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, the pain in my stomach peaked. The world went black, and I collapsed onto the polished marble floor. “Naomi! Naomi, wake up!” Clyde’s frantic voice dragged me back to consciousness. I was lying in our bed at home. He was sitting beside me, his eyes wide with a mixture of panic and irritation. “I’ve told you a thousand times to stop these ridiculous starvation diets,” he scolded, his voice rising. “You passed out right in front of the lobby. Do you know how that looks? What if a client had walked in and seen you like that?” Even as he complained, he blew gently on a spoonful of warm oatmeal he had brought up. “Here. Eat some of this.” “I’m nauseous,” I whispered, turning my head away. “I can’t.” “You have to,” he insisted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I made it myself. I even put in those sweet dates you like.” I looked at him, then quietly turned back and opened my mouth. The oatmeal felt like swallowed glass, scraping against my raw throat and burning my stomach with every agonizing inch it traveled down. But it was Clyde’s cooking. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I would never taste anything he made for me again. “Cough—” A violent spasm shook my stomach. I gagged, dry-heaving as the oatmeal came right back up, splattering across the pristine duvet. Clyde, always a neat freak, flinched back. His brow furrowed in disgust as he quickly handed me a box of tissues. “For God’s sake, Naomi, you’re an adult. Try to keep yourself together.” I remembered the photo from May’s blog—the one where she had spilled tea on her fingers, and he had playfully licked it off, laughing, calling her his “sweet little mess.” His phone chimed in his pocket. His eyes darted to the screen, his posture stiffening immediately. He stood up, tossing the soiled napkins into the trash. “I have to go. Clean yourself up and eat the rest when you can.” “Don’t go,” I whispered, reaching out to grasp his wrist, my fingers trembling. “Please. Just stay with me for a little while. I really don’t feel well…” “Enough, Naomi,” he said sharply, pulling his hand from my grip with clinical coldness. “I have actual work to do. I don’t have time for these childish tantrums. You’re too old to be acting like this. It doesn’t suit you.” “But my stomach hurts so badly… Clyde, please…” “Slam.” The heavy bedroom door shut, the sound echoing in my ears. I curled into a tight ball on the bed, my face pale from the agony in my gut, my chest so tight I could barely draw breath. The oncologist had told me that without chemotherapy, the pain would eventually become unbearable. But I wanted to hold on just a little longer. I wanted to hold on until Clyde and I could do those three simple things together, to close the book of my life with some semblance of peace. Now, I saw even that was a foolish wish. I dragged myself out of bed, threw on a coat, and took a cab to the hospital, hoping to get some stronger painkillers. The outpatient clinic was packed. While waiting in the long queue, I took out my phone and pulled up May’s public profile again. Her latest update was from twenty minutes ago. A picture of a revealing black lace outfit laid out on a bed. “My new little devil lingerie just arrived. My sweet older man is so wild today, he even took his little blue pills. Looks like I won’t be getting any sleep tonight!” My fingers turned translucent as I gripped the phone, biting my lip until I tasted copper. Over the last few years, Clyde had barely touched me. I had tried everything to reignite the spark, buying silk slips, planning romantic weekend getaways, but he always reacted with cold indifference. Once, when I tried wearing something delicate and daring, he had looked at me with flat, judgmental eyes. “We’ve been married for a decade, Naomi. Act your age. It’s embarrassing.” “Make way! Emergency coming through!” The frantic shouting of EMTs shattered my thoughts. A gurney was being wheeled rapidly through the corridor. Whispers rippled through the waiting room. “Did you see that girl on the stretcher?” “Yeah, apparently she ruptured a cyst during… well, you know. The guy carrying her in didn’t even have his pants zipped up properly…” I stepped back to let them pass, but in the chaos, someone collided with me, knocking me hard against the wall. “I’m sorry, I’m in a rush—” Our eyes locked. Clyde froze, his face draining of all color. His hand, still reaching out to steady me, began to tremble. “Naomi? What… what are you doing here?” “Sir!” a nurse yelled down the hall. “Your wife is in excruciating pain! We need you to sign these forms immediately!” Clyde hesitated for a fraction of a second. He didn’t correct her. He didn’t look at me again. He just turned and sprinted after the gurney. I leaned against the wall, sliding down slowly as a fresh wave of cold sweat broke out across my forehead. An hour later, a text popped up on my phone. “Go home. I’ll explain everything.” I let out a soft, dry chuckle. “Explain what, Clyde?” I had tried so hard to help him keep his secrets. But he had dragged his own mess right in front of my face. I was walking toward the exit when Clyde caught up to me, grabbing my elbow. “Why are you at the hospital, Naomi?” I stared at his disheveled clothes, his collar slightly turned inward. “My stomach was cramping. I came to get some painkillers.” “This is exactly why you need to eat,” he said, his worry instantly morphing into familiar irritation. “Young girls can get away with skipping meals. You can’t.” He glanced back toward the emergency bay, his eyes shifting nervously. “Look… the girl they just brought in, she’s a student I’ve been sponsoring. She got sick suddenly, and she didn’t have anyone else to call. I was just helping her. Don’t overthink this.” I stared at him, and for the first time in ten years, a genuine, mocking laugh escaped my lips. “Clyde,” I whispered. “You keep telling me that I’m old. That I’m not some gullible little girl anymore.” “Naomi…” “Then stop using the kind of cheap, insulting lies you’d tell a little girl on me.” His expression hardened, the lies dissolving into a defensive, weary resignation. “So you know.” “Yes.” “Fine,” he said, his tone shifting to a careless, almost dismissive shrug. “I slept with her. But she knows her place. She’s quiet, and she’s not going to threaten your position as my wife. Don’t make a scene out of this. Give it some time, and I’ll break things off with her. We’ll go back to normal.” The cold in my chest spread through my limbs, leaving me completely numb. “And what if I want you to break it off right now?” He frowned, his eyes snapping with impatience. “I can’t do that. She’s young, she’s fragile. She needs time to process this. Don’t be so selfish, Naomi.” “Selfish.” The word echoed in my mind, so absurd that tears began to leak from the corners of my eyes. “I’m selfish?” I laughed through the tears. “I sold the only house my mother left me to fund your startup. Is that selfish?” “Naomi, that was years ago—” “I gave up my dream job in London to build this company alongside you for ten years. I drank myself into stomach ulcers trying to close deals for you. I was so incredibly selfish, Clyde, that I didn’t divorce you the second I realized you were cheating on me.” A flicker of shame crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a bitter, defensive sneer. “We’ve been married a decade, Naomi. We’re adults. We deal in reality, not fairy tales. May is innocent. She’s simple. She doesn’t talk about business or money. A simple coffee date makes her happy enough to spend the weekend pleasing me.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping. “And let’s be honest. You can’t have children. I’ve never thrown that in your face. I even got a vasectomy for you. Do you know how much pressure my mother put on me? How much my family laughed at me behind my back? I carried all of that alone.” “So now you want her to carry your child?” “May wants to give me a baby,” he said, as if explaining a logical business transaction. “I’m planning to get the vasectomy reversed. We’ll have a child, and we can raise it together. You should actually thank her. She’s willing to do this with no strings attached, just to lift that burden off your shoulders.” Before I could absorb the sheer horror of his words, his phone rang. He answered it, his voice instantly turning honey-sweet. “Hey, sweetie. Yes, I’m buying it for you right now. Don’t move.” He hung up, gave me a brief, warning look, and walked away. I stood alone in the sterile, white hallway of the hospital. The physical pain in my stomach had faded into a dull, distant hum. In its place was the absolute, peaceful stillness of a dying heart. Clyde and I entered a silent war. He didn’t come home for a week. May’s private blog, however, was updated daily. Clyde took her to the coast. He took her glamping in the mountains. They stayed in every luxury resort she’d ever bookmarked. At a high-end boutique, he knelt down to slip a pair of designer heels onto her size 6 feet, kissing her ankle. During an Olivia Rodrigo concert, the stadium’s kiss-cam caught them on the giant screen. Clyde wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing her deeply as the crowd roared. Meanwhile, I lay alone in our dark house, swallowing painkillers until the bottle was empty. I packed my things quietly. I collected every digital receipt, every screenshot, and every photo of their affair, and filed them neatly into a folder. Then, I printed out a set of divorce papers. On the eighth night, Clyde finally came home. “I’m back,” he said, walking into the kitchen and sliding a small box onto the counter. “I got you a little something.” I opened it. It was a delicate diamond tennis bracelet I had admired in a catalog months ago. “I picked it up on my trip to Chicago,” he said, watching me. “I know you wanted it.” I ran my finger over the cold, sparkling stones and closed the box. “I don’t want this anymore, Clyde.” He sighed, his shoulders tensing. “Don’t start, Naomi. What do you want then?” “I want you to wait in line with me to buy a boba tea. I want you to go to the mall and help me pick out a pair of shoes. And I want you to take me to a concert. Just those three things.” Every single thing he had done with May, and never with me. Clyde’s face darkened, his eyes flashing with sudden anger. “Are you stalking me, Naomi? Do you have any idea how pathetic and unhinged that is? What is wrong with you?” “Just promise me you’ll do these three things,” I said, my voice barely a whisper as I forced myself to stay calm. “As my husband of ten years, I am asking you for these last three things. Do this, and I won’t interfere with her.” He opened his mouth to snap at me, but when he saw the tears silently tracking down my face, he stopped. He reached out, his hand hesitating before brushing a tear from my cheek with a rough sigh. “Fine. Fine. We’ll go get your damn tea right now. The other two things we’ll do later, okay?” He drove me to a local boba shop near our house. They didn’t have the honeydew melon pudding tea. He stood in line, his hands in his pockets, looking utterly bored. “Just get whatever,” he muttered when it was our turn. “Get something hot. Sugar-free.” “Why?” “At your age, drinking cold, sugary drinks is bad for your joints and your system.” The young barista behind the counter offered a sweet, polite smile. “You two are so cute. It’s nice to see a husband care so much about his wife’s health.” I took the plain, lukewarm black tea, staring at the plastic cup. “I guess some things,” I murmured, “even when forced, are never what we actually wanted.” “What?” Clyde didn’t hear me. His phone was already ringing. May’s sweet, petulant voice drifted through the receiver. “Clyde, I want that pasta you make. And I want you.” He let out a low, indulgent chuckle. “I’ll be right there, sweetheart.” He hung up and headed back to the car, leaving me on the sidewalk. “I have a meeting across town. Take an Uber back. And make sure you eat something real.” I looked at him and nodded slowly. “I will.” That afternoon, I left the signed divorce papers on the kitchen island, took my suitcase, and bought a one-way ticket to Maine. As the plane taxied down the runway, I turned my phone off. I closed my eyes and let the silence wash over me. The moment the flight landed and I turned my phone back on, it began to vibrate violently. Hundreds of missed calls and text messages flooded the screen.

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Austin only managed to win me over because of his female relationship guru. Because of that, Mallory felt perfectly entitled to pull the strings of our entire relationship. She was the one who told him that keeping things private was the only way to protect them. So, for five years, Austin never posted a single picture of me on Instagram. Not even a passing mention in a story. She was the one who said distance makes the heart grow fonder, and that being together twenty-four/seven would only breed resentment. So, Austin wouldn’t even take me out on a date without her green light. I cried. I threw tantrums. Yet, Austin always managed to look like the real victim. “I only asked her to help because I wanted us to last, Sherry,” he would plead, looking utterly exhausted by my tears. “Why can’t you just try to understand that?” Until last night. Austin left me while I was burning up with a fever and went completely off the grid. When I finally couldn’t bear the silence anymore, I sent him a text. “Where are you?” The reply came almost instantly. “A woman needs her own agency. Constantly clinging to a man just devalues you. If you make yourself cheap, he won’t cherish you.” I knew it was Mallory using his phone to reply. This time, I didn’t care why Mallory had his phone so late. I didn’t scream, and I didn’t demand to know who mattered more to him. Something inside me just clicked, and then… it went quiet. He had an advisor. Well, so did I. 1. Austin didn’t come home until almost dawn. He brought with him a heavy scent of whiskey, and every corner of his jacket was smeared with sweet, sticky frosting. Remembering the text from earlier, I reached out and quietly took his phone from his hand. “Let me clean that off for you.” Before the words could even leave my mouth, Austin flinched away as if my touch were a disease. “I told you, Sherry, I don’t like people touching my phone,” he snapped. “Even couples need boundaries.” Boundaries. I had believed that lie for five years. Yet, for those same five years, Mallory had comfortably slipped past those boundaries, answering his texts whenever she pleased. A dull ache flared in my chest. I couldn’t help but press him. “Who replied to my text earlier then? If you care so much about boundaries, why is Mallory always the exception?” Having his hypocrisy laid bare made Austin’s face darken with annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you? She’s just my relationship guru. Why do you always have to be so paranoid?” To prove his innocence, he unlocked the phone in front of me. The screen was slick with frosting, and it took him three attempts to swipe the passcode correctly. `0709`. July ninth. It was Mallory’s birthday. He had spent the night with her, came home covered in frosting, and his phone’s passcode was her birthday—not mine. The weight of that realization crushed whatever fight I had left in me. Even demanding an explanation felt pointless. Over the years, I had begged him for some small semblance of romance. I had asked him to change his wallpaper or lock screen to something that represented us. Back then, Austin had dismissed me with a single, cold word: “Childish.” He thought I was childish. But when it came to Mallory, it was different. With tears hot on my cheeks, I asked him why. He only gave me an irritated shrug. “She said it was annoying to keep asking for my password when she was helping me reply to your messages. I changed it to her birthday out of convenience.” What I had begged five years for, he gave to her on a whim. I stared at him, unable to recognize the man standing in front of me. Before we started dating, he used to spend hours drafting a single text to me. When I teasingly called him a clueless guy, he panicked and hired Mallory to write high-EQ responses to win me over. But I never imagined that this so-called relationship guru would slowly, methodically, weave herself into the very fabric of our lives. At that moment, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washed over me. Austin’s phone buzzed. It was a notification from Mallory. She had sent him screenshots of their photos together across various social media platforms. The caption read: “My absolute favorite person in the world.” For five years, because Mallory said a relationship should be private, Austin kept me hidden. Yet, he gave Mallory a public, exclusive place in his life. They were each other’s absolute favorites. I was just the third wheel. I forced a bitter smile and held the phone up to his face. “Since she’s so important to you, why don’t we just break up so you two can be together? That way, she won’t have to work so hard to make my life miserable.” Austin scoffed, slapping the phone out of my hand. “Mallory just wanted to give you a reality check so you’d appreciate me more! She works herself to the bone trying to keep us together, and all you do is accuse her. She’s right—you really are a manipulative, insecure snake.” “Mallory says, Mallory says.” He always hung on her every word. I realized then that arguing was useless. A relationship guru? Who didn’t have one? I closed my mouth, opened my messaging app, and pulled up a chat with my childhood best friend. “Hey, my advisor… I think he loves his relationship guru more than me. What do I do?” Bruno replied almost instantly. “Your advisor is better. I’m flying back to the States in three days.” “Will you give me a chance?” Three days from now was our fifth anniversary. Since Austin obeyed his advisor, I decided it was time to start listening to mine. 2. Perhaps because I had actually brought up breaking up, Austin did something unprecedented the next day. He offered to take me to a gathering with his close circle of friends. “Mallory just wanted to give you a reality check. Stop being mad,” he said, adjusting his collar. “I know you’ve been wanting to go public. I’m taking you to meet the guys today. Happy now?” He was finally willing to bring me into his world, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. All I could think about was how much of this decision had been orchestrated by Mallory. Yet, I didn’t refuse. Since I had already resolved to leave, I wanted to see exactly how rotten this relationship had become. When we arrived at the private dining room, everyone was crowded around Mallory, laughing and talking. Not a single person looked up to acknowledge my existence. There was only one empty seat at the main table, and a flimsy plastic stool placed next to Mallory’s chair. Austin looked momentarily embarrassed. He started to pull the plastic stool over so we could squeeze in together at the main table. But Mallory called out to him, her voice dripping with mock disbelief. “Are you choosing a girl over your brothers, Austin? Don’t be such a pathetic simp.” She smirked, gesturing to the stool. “Let Sherry sit with me.” Her words put him on the spot in front of his friends. I stood there quietly, waiting to see what he would choose. I got my answer when he let go of the stool and walked over to sit with his friends, leaving me to sit alone next to Mallory. Sitting on that cheap plastic stool, looking at Austin across the table, my mind drifted back to five years ago. When we first started dating, he would wait outside my dorm building every single night until the lights-out curfew. Someone had taken a picture of him and posted it on the campus confession board, teasing him for being a simp. But Austin had proudly commented under the post: “If treating my girl right makes me a simp, then I’m the biggest simp in the world.” But now, everything was different. “Sherry,” Mallory’s voice broke my train of thought. She nudged my arm, a conspiratorial look on her face. “You know, guys, Sherry looks so innocent in public, but she is so clingy in private.” She cleared her throat, pitch-shifting her voice into a whiny, mocking caricature to read my texts to Austin. “‘Austin, can you please give me just a little bit of your time?’ ‘Austin, I want to make this work, why are you being so cold?’” The table erupted into loud, cruel laughter. The heat rushed to my face. “Could you respect my privacy?” I asked, my voice cold. Mallory rolled her eyes, scoffing. “We wrote half of those replies to you anyway, so what privacy are you talking about? I shared your chat history in the group chat ages ago. The guys are honestly sick of reading your whining.” The vulnerability I had only ever shown to Austin had been passed around like a cheap joke in their group chat. The humiliation suffocated me. I looked at Austin, hoping he would put an end to this circus. Instead, Mallory took my silence as permission to push further. “Are you going to run and cry to Austin now?” she giggled. “You know, when he first started kissing, he didn’t even know how to breathe. I had to teach him. Technically, you should be thanking me.” She really was a dedicated advisor, teaching him how to kiss, step-by-step. The thought of every intimate moment I had shared with Austin made my stomach churn. I felt physically sick. I stood up and walked out. Austin instinctively moved to follow, but Mallory’s sharp voice cut through the room. “Stop right there, Austin. Are you a man or not?” she mocked. “She’s just playing hard to get, and you’re running after her like a puppy. You’re going to let her control you for the rest of your life?” I quickened my pace, pushing through the doors. I knew he wouldn’t follow. In five years, whenever Mallory was involved, he had never once stood by my side. And I didn’t need him to anymore. 3. I walked back to our apartment in a daze, immediately pulling out my suitcase to pack. My phone buzzed with a text from Austin. “Hey baby, my phone glitched and accidentally ordered that cake you like. Are you ready to forgive me yet?” It was always like this. When Mallory was in a good mood, she would draft some high-EQ apology for him to send me. When she wasn’t, she would tell him to ignore me to “give me a reality check.” I used to play along, pretending not to notice because I wanted to keep the peace. But now, picturing her smug face on the other side of the screen, controlling my emotions like a puppet master, I felt nothing but disgust. I typed back: “Mallory, do you really think you’re that clever?” I didn’t wait for a reply. I threw my things into the suitcase, only to realize I had barely anything to pack. Over the years, Mallory had constantly whispered in Austin’s ear: “The better you treat a woman, the less she values you. Money is to show them, not to spend on them.” So, in five years, Austin had rarely bought me anything—not even a single bouquet of flowers. My entire life in this apartment fit into a single suitcase. It made leaving beautifully simple. As I zipped it shut, a knock sounded at the door. I opened it to find Mallory standing on the threshold. She tilted her chin, intentionally exposing a neck covered in dark red hickeys. “You just had to throw a tantrum, didn’t you?” she smirked, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “As his advisor, I had to step in and help him blow off some steam.” Even though I had already checked out of this relationship, the sight of those marks still sent a sharp, physical pain through my chest. I swallowed the ache and forced a cold laugh. “What’s the point of throwing yourself at him like a desperate side-piece? He still didn’t choose you to be his girlfriend, did he?” That hit a nerve. Mallory’s smug expression shattered, and she shoved me hard against the doorframe. “We were practically together before you barged in! You’re the real home-wrecker here. Your mother was a mistress, and a mistress’s daughter is always a mistress.” Hearing her insult my mother, the dam broke. Years of repressed rage boiled over, and I raised my hand and swung. “Slap!” The sharp, stinging sound echoed in the hallway. But my palm didn’t hit Mallory’s face. It struck Austin’s cheek. Realizing Austin had stepped in to take the blow for her, Mallory immediately burst into tears, her voice trembling. “I just saw how upset she was and wanted to apologize… Sherry, what did I ever do to make you hate me this much?” Austin stood like a shield in front of her, the disgust in his eyes burning into me. “She called my mother a mistress. She deserved it,” I said, my voice steady despite the trembling in my hands. Austin, thoroughly manipulated by Mallory’s tears, snapped. “You’ll say anything to lie about Mallory. Your mother did things that couldn’t face the light of day. Are people not even allowed to talk about it?” An icy chill washed over me, numbing me from head to toe. Only Austin knew about my mother’s past. He knew she only found out my biological father had another family after I was born. He knew she had tried to end her life multiple times from the shame of that label. And yet, he had handed our deepest pain to Mallory like cheap gossip, letting her weaponize it against me. I stood there, completely drained of life, as tears fell silently. Realizing he had crossed a line, Austin’s expression softened slightly, and he reached out to touch my shoulder. I stepped back, avoiding him. I looked at the man standing before me. He felt like a stranger. My mind flashed back to the night he had knelt in the pouring rain outside my mother’s house for hours, begging for her blessing. That night, he had held our hands and made a solemn vow. “If I ever hurt Sherry, let me rot. I promise to give her the home she deserves.” It was all a lie. I let out a soft, dry laugh. “Austin, we’re done.” Austin’s eyes widened, and he reached for my hand again, but Mallory stepped between us. “Remember what I told you, Austin?” she warned. “Whoever apologizes first loses. I hate these manipulative, dramatic girls.” Austin froze, seemingly swayed by her words. He pulled his hand back, his face hardening. “Fine. Don’t regret this.” He turned and walked away, Mallory close at his heels, her loud voice echoing down the hallway as they went. “Isn’t tomorrow your fifth anniversary?” she said loudly. “The guys and I will celebrate at that restaurant you booked. Let’s see who regrets what.” I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Bruno. “The day you arrive, I think I’d like a formal confession.” And the location would be the exact restaurant where I was supposed to spend my anniversary. The regret wouldn’t be mine. 4. The next afternoon, Austin returned to the apartment. He didn’t apologize, nor did he ask why my suitcase was sitting by the door. Instead, he immediately started advocating for Mallory. “Tonight, I’m helping Mallory make her crush jealous by pretending to propose to her,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “So, our anniversary dinner is canceled.” Seeing that I wasn’t responding, he scrambled for justifications. “She was my wingwoman for five years, Sherry. I owe her this favor. Don’t be so petty. How am I supposed to face my friends if you make me back out now?” I didn’t let him finish. “Sure. That’s fine.” He blinked, clearly taken aback by how easily I had agreed. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Don’t be mad.” I shook my head. “No need.” Never again. That evening, I put on the custom gown Bruno had sent to my apartment and walked into the high-end, window-side restaurant he had reserved. But before I could even find my table, Mallory appeared out of nowhere, blocking my path. “Austin reserved this table for me,” she said, looking me up and down. “As a modern woman, I hope you have some dignity left and stop clinging to a man who doesn’t want you.” I let out a cold laugh. “As a modern woman, I hope you have some shame. This table doesn’t have your name on it.” Mallory’s face flushed with anger, and she looked back toward the entrance. Austin walked in, his expression instantly darkening when he saw me. “You shouldn’t be here, Sherry,” he said quietly. “It’s only going to make you miserable.” Was he worried about my misery, or was he worried I would ruin their little show? The answer didn’t matter anymore. I didn’t feel like wasting another breath on them, so I signaled a passing waiter. “I think these guests have mistaken their table. Could you please check their reservation and guide them to the correct area?” The waiter politely checked his tablet and gestured for Austin and Mallory to follow him to a different section. Austin’s face burned with embarrassment. He looked at me, exasperated. “Do you really have to waste so much money just to spite me?” He was still so painfully arrogant. I ignored him, looking past his shoulder to wait for Bruno. The staff began arranging large vases of yellow daffodils around my table, per Bruno’s instructions. Mallory, watching from a distance, marched back over and barked at the florists, “Ugh, I hate daffodils! They’re so tacky. Take them away and bring roses! This is Austin’s proposal to me, what are you doing?” The florists looked bewildered. I offered them a gentle smile. “Please keep setting them up exactly as requested. I’m the one who paid for them. Listen to me.” Seeing me embarrass Mallory again, Austin stepped in front of her. “Sherry, you’re being ridiculous.” His friends, who had just walked in, immediately joined the attack. “Are you seriously still trying to get his attention?” one of them sneered. “Austin is proposing to Mallory today. No one cares about you.” “I do,” a deep, clear voice cut through the noise. Bruno, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, walked through the crowd. He bypassed everyone and knelt on one knee directly in front of me. “I’m late,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth. “Will you be my girlfriend, Sherry?”

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My husband has a severe sex addiction. Yet, in our seven years of marriage, he has never touched me. To suppress his burning desires, he submerged himself in freezing ice water day and night, leaving his arms scarred with needle marks from self-administered sedatives. Many times, my heart ached for him, and I tried to initiate intimacy. But he would only press a restrained, gentle kiss on my forehead. “Sia, don’t be silly. I’m not like those beasts.” “How could I bear to hurt you? For you, I’m willing to live in a platonic marriage forever.” His abnormal obsession lasted for seven long years. Even when he was hospitalized multiple times from suppressing his urges, he never crossed the line. Until our seventh wedding anniversary. That day, a young girl came to my clinic for her ninth hymenoplasty. As the anesthesia dripped into her veins, her face flushed, and she began to cry like a helpless kitten. I shook my head, looking at the fresh hickeys covering her body. I thought she was just another lost teenager. Until I heard her final, whimpering cry. “Carter… you bastard.” My hand trembled, and I almost dropped the scalpel. Because my husband’s name was also Carter.

After the surgery was over. I quietly slipped my diamond watch into Chloe’s purse. That night, I sat at the dining table, staring blankly at the lavish feast I had prepared. The luxury jewelry Carter’s assistant had just delivered was piled up in the living room. “Ma’am, Mr. Sinclair said he has an important business merger tonight and can’t make it home for the anniversary. He personally selected these gifts for you.” Looking at the cold dishes, I opened my iPad. The GPS tracker on my watch showed a location in an elite, gated villa community. Carter had given me that watch. It was equipped with the most advanced GPS and listening devices. Years ago, I was kidnapped. That near-death experience left Carter sleepless for six months. Since then, he had been paranoid about my safety. “Carter, today is your seventh anniversary with Sienna. Are you really not going back?” A chorus of rowdy laughter echoed through the speaker. After a long pause, a deep, magnetic chuckle sounded. “Go back? To look at that lifeless, stone-cold face of hers?” His tone was casual, laced with mockery. Through the screen, I could almost picture Carter sitting at the head of the table, holding a cigarette, exhaling a cloud of gray smoke. The men on the other end laughed. Then came the clinking of whiskey glasses. “I heard you haven’t touched Sienna in seven years. She’s such a beauty. How do you hold back?” “Are you crazy? Everyone in our circle knows Carter only touches pure girls. No matter how gorgeous Sienna is, she’s just damaged goods from that kidnapping. How can she compare to Chloe’s purity?” Chloe let out a shy, soft giggle. A cold shiver ran down my spine, and my hands shook violently. I felt like I was dragged right back into the darkest moment of my life. The night before our wedding, I was kidnapped by Carter’s business rivals. To humiliate the Sinclair family, they tortured me for seventy-two hours. When Carter finally found me, he was crying like a madman. Since then, I developed severe PTSD. Any physical touch made me physically throw up. Back then, Carter would hold me, weeping, and repeat: “Sia, you are not dirty. You are the purest, most beautiful soul in the world.” But now, the speaker filled with loud laughter again. Someone asked: “Then why did you marry her in the first place? Seven years is a long time. There must be some love, right?” The room fell quiet. It seemed everyone was curious about Carter’s answer. My house was so silent that I could only hear my own racing heartbeat. Carter took a slow sip of his drink and drawled out a few words. “Cut it out. Don’t be childish.” “I don’t touch her because she disgusts me. But if I didn’t marry her, she would’ve killed herself. Who would take responsibility for that?” “Ah, right! I almost forgot she’d literally die without you.” “Anyway, she’s an orphan. Marrying into the Sinclair family is the best thing that ever happened to her. A woman like her just needs some luxury bags to keep her happy. Just keep her like a pretty little pet.” The party ended, and after everyone left, Chloe’s voice drifted through. “Carter, I prepared a surprise for you. Want to guess what it is?” Carter let out a low growl and lifted her up. “Let’s find out.” The humiliating, passionate sounds began to play through the speaker. A cold tear fell onto the back of my hand. Only then did I realize my face was soaked. The tears dripped onto my ring finger, wetting my wedding band. I moved my stiff body and suddenly laughed. With one sweep of my arm, I crashed the entire anniversary dinner onto the floor and began to vomit violently. The noises on the screen didn’t stop until the first light of dawn. Chloe whimpered in a raspy voice. “Carter, you bastard…” I slid the wedding ring off my finger. Suddenly, I remembered his vow on our wedding day. “Carter, if you ever do something unforgivable, I will disappear from your life forever.” The twenty-two-year-old Carter had eyes full of absolute devotion. “That’s a shame, because you’ll never get that chance.” Staring at my miserable reflection in the French windows, I wiped my tears. I picked up my phone and called Carter’s mother, Victoria. “Mrs. Sinclair, I’ve made up my mind. I accept your terms.”

The next day, Chloe came to my office again. “Dr. Sinclair, you dropped your watch in my bag.” She walked with a slight, awkward limp, but her face was glowing with a sweet, victorious smile. “This watch is stunning. I bet you can’t find a second one in all of Seattle.” Listening to her envious tone, I barely spared her a glance. “If you like it so much, keep it.” Chloe smiled, placing the watch on my desk. “No, thanks. I don’t have a fetish for being tracked and wiretapped.” My hands froze. She sat opposite me, resting her chin in her hands. “Dr. Sinclair, did you enjoy the show last night? I intentionally put my bag right next to the bed so you could hear every detail.” “Oh, wait. You probably missed a few parts. After all, Carter loves doing it in places other than the bedroom.” Looking at her smug smile, I realized she knew everything. Seeing my silence, Chloe pulled out her phone and played an audio recording. “Carter, who do you love more? Me or Sienna?” “She’s a lifeless block of wood compared to you.” Carter’s voice was raw and wild in the recording. “Besides, her surgery skills are great. You feel brand new.” Chloe closed her phone, giving me a mocking look. “Dr. Sinclair, I guess I’ll be seeing a lot of you. My Carter… really loves your work.” She dragged out the words “My Carter.” When I didn’t react with the tears she wanted, she looked disappointed. “No wonder Carter says you’re as boring as a corpse. Truly, you—ah!” I reached out, grabbed a handful of her hair, and slammed her face into the desk before landing two sharp slaps across her cheeks. “How dare you hit me!” Chloe screamed, clutching her head. I dragged her toward the door. “Since you’re so proud of being a whore, let me help you. Let’s show the whole hospital how cheap you are!” Suddenly, the door swung open. “Carter!” Chloe broke free from my grip, sobbing, and threw herself into Carter’s arms. “I just came to return her watch, but she called me a homewrecker and beat me!” Looking at the red handprints on her face, Carter frowned. I stared at him in dead silence. Just as Chloe’s eyes gleamed with triumph, Carter spoke coldly to his assistant behind him. “Take Chloe back.” “Carter!” Chloe gasped in disbelief. Carter only gave her a chilling glance. “Remember your place. There is only one Mrs. Sinclair.” Once the room cleared out, Carter walked over to grab my reddened hand, gently blowing on it. “Does it hurt? Why do you even care about her? She’s just an immature girl.” “Let’s get a divorce.” “What?” I pulled my hand back and repeated slowly, word for word. “Carter, let’s get a divorce. We are over.” Carter stunned for a second. When he saw the cold determination in my eyes, he scoffed. “Sienna, think carefully. If you divorce me, you are truly ruined.” I remained unmoved. Carter’s brows furrowed. “Just because I have a woman on the side, you’re throwing a tantrum like this?” He genuinely looked like he couldn’t understand. “You know how our circle works. Every man does this.” “In seven years of marriage, she is the only one I’ve had. I’m already a saint compared to the others.” Before I could speak, his face darkened completely. “Mr. Sinclair!” Suddenly, his assistant rushed back in, pale as a ghost. “It’s bad! Chloe was just hit by a car right outside the clinic!”

When Chloe was carried back in, she was covered in blood. Seeing his hands stained with her blood, a flash of panic crossed Carter’s eyes—a panic he didn’t even realize he had. “What are you standing there for? Save her!” But the moment Chloe saw me, she shrieked in terror. “Dr. Sinclair, I was wrong! I’ll never see Carter again! Please, spare my life!” At the same time, the security guards dragged the hit-and-run driver into the room. The man fell to his knees instantly, grabbing my coat. “Dr. Sinclair, I did exactly what you asked! I didn’t kill her, but I did the job! I don’t want to go to prison, you have to save me!” His desperate pleas immediately drew a crowd of hospital staff. I stood frozen. It was utterly absurd. Before I could kick him away, Carter roared like a wounded beast. “Sienna! Are you insane?! You know she has a severe coagulation disorder!” The shout made me flinch. I looked up, heartbroken. “You don’t believe me? You think I did this?” “Mr. Sinclair, Chloe has O-negative blood, and our blood bank is empty! If she doesn’t get a transfusion now, she’s going to die!” “Wait, isn’t Dr. Sinclair O-negative too? An eye for an eye! Make her give her blood!” someone in the crowd yelled. The crowd began to chant in agreement. “Take her in!” With a grim face, Carter ordered his men to drag me into the transfusion room. I have severe hereditary anemia. I need blood transfusions myself every month just to stay stable. With Chloe’s blood loss, extracting enough to save her would drain me completely. The moment the needle pierced my vein, I panicked and struggled. “Carter, are you insane? You forgot my condition—” “A life is on the line, Sienna. Don’t be so selfish.” Carter turned and walked out without a single backward glance. By the time the transfusion was over, I couldn’t even stand. “Ma’am, Mr. Sinclair said that as long as you behave and remain Mrs. Sinclair, he will arrange a transfusion for you.” Hearing the assistant’s words, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. So, Carter hadn’t forgotten my illness. He just used it as leverage. “Even if I die, I am getting this divorce.” With those final words, my vision went black, and I collapsed onto the cold floor. When I opened my eyes again, Carter was standing over me, grabbing my wrist in rage. “Sienna, when will you face reality?” “Without the Sinclair family, you can’t even survive!” Staring at the fresh needle marks on his arm from his self-inflicted sedatives, I smiled with pure defiance. “Then let me die.” Carter’s breath hitched. With bloodshot eyes, he threw my hand down. “Fine. Let’s see how long you can last.” That very night, the news of the “Brilliant Surgeon Sienna Sinclair Hiring a Hitman” exploded on the internet. The scandal grew rapidly. Even when the hospital director held a press conference, the public outrage couldn’t be silenced. My phone was ringing off the hook. Only Carter had the power to orchestrate such a massive smear campaign overnight. When I didn’t beg for mercy, Carter doubled down. A new headline shocked the city. An anonymous source leaked my medical records from years ago. PTSD. Severe Depression. Emotional Trauma. The internet went wild. The once-rising star of the medical field became a disgraced, unstable psycho overnight. The next morning, I went to the hospital. The director was bowing and scraping to Carter in his office. Seeing me enter, Carter sneered. “Sienna, I told you. Without me, you are nothing. Did you come here to beg?” I calmly placed my resignation letter on his desk. Looking at my medical credentials, a wave of bitterness washed over me. Carter knew better than anyone how hard I had worked to become a surgeon. He knew my lifelong dream was to save lives. Yet, he proved to me that my years of hard work could be destroyed by a single word from him. Staring at the resignation letter, Carter was stunned. Then, his anger turned into a mocking laugh. He grabbed my arm and dragged me to Chloe’s VIP ward. “Resignation isn’t enough. Since you had the guts to do something so dirty, you should pay the price!” The moment Chloe saw me, she screamed. “Get this killer away from me! Carter, make her leave!” Her hand had been crushed by the car wheel, leaving her permanently disabled. Carter held her to comfort her, then signaled his bodyguards to pin my right hand to the table. When I realized what he was about to do, horror seized me. “Carter, no! Please—ah!” A sharp scalpel sliced right through my palm. The agonizing pain almost made me pass out instantly. Staring at my blood-dripping, ruined hand, I screamed in absolute despair. Carter looked away, his face expressionless. “The ward needs a nurse anyway. Since you ruined Chloe’s hand, you will stay here and serve her.” I slumped to the floor, gasping in pain, unable to utter a single word. Chloe leaned into Carter’s chest, throwing me a victorious, malicious smile.

I don’t know how much time passed before the searing pain woke me up. Chloe was grinding her heel into my bandaged hand. “Carter told you to serve me. Get up, you useless trash!” I glared at her with bloodshot eyes and scoffed. “Even so, he still won’t sign the divorce papers. As long as we are married, you are nothing but a cheap mistress.” “You!” Chloe stamped harder, her face contorting with rage. A moment later, a sinister smile spread across her face. “It doesn’t matter if Carter doesn’t sign. If you die, the marriage ends anyway.” Before I could react, someone grabbed me from behind, pressed a drugged rag over my mouth, and everything went black. When I woke up, I was on an abandoned rooftop. My vision was blurry. As I tried to stand, the heavy iron door was kicked open. “Sienna!” Carter’s furious voice echoed. I shook my head and realized I was holding a scalpel in my hand. Chloe was curled up on the edge of the roof, sobbing hysterically. “Dr. Sinclair, I was wrong! Please don’t kill me!” She grabbed my leg, begging and crying. My head throbbed. The drug she had given me contained hallucinogens. “Sienna, don’t do anything stupid!” Chloe and I were standing right at the edge of the roof. From Carter’s angle, it looked like I was holding a knife to her throat. Suddenly, Chloe leaned in close, whispering in a voice full of venom. “Don’t worry, I prepared a final gift for you.” As soon as she finished, a crowd of reporters rushed out from the stairwell below, pointing cameras and microphones at us. “Mrs. Sinclair, did you hide the fact that you were gang-raped before your wedding?” “Mrs. Sinclair, is your infertility a result of the trauma from that kidnapping?” Someone downstairs played the humiliating video from seven years ago on a megaphone. The young girl’s screams in the video merged with the nightmares that had haunted me for years. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Carter’s face went completely pale. He grabbed his assistant, roaring, “Who the fuck let them in?!” In the chaos, my shaking hand was suddenly grabbed by Chloe. She forced my hand to plunge the scalpel straight into my own abdomen. “Carter, save me!” Chloe shrieked, trying to run toward him. But before she could take two steps, I grabbed her hair with all my remaining strength. Under Carter’s horrified gaze, I drove the scalpel deep into her stomach. “If you want pain, I’ll give you real pain!” Tears streamed down my face. “If my life is hell, you’re coming with me.” Her stab at me wasn’t fatal, but my strike to her was brutal. Blood pooled on the concrete. My head spun, and Carter rushed forward. He shoved me aside, scooped Chloe into his arms, and ran. I clutched my bleeding stomach, collapsing onto the cold ground. Before darkness took me, I heard Carter’s voice, colder than ice. “Sienna has completely lost her mind. Lock her in the psychiatric facility. Don’t ever let her out to hurt anyone again.” “Sir, putting her in a private asylum requires a family signature.” Desperate to save Chloe, Carter signed his name on the paper without even looking. When Chloe woke up, she cried hysterically. “Carter, the doctors said I can never have children! It’s all Sienna’s fault!” Carter tried his best to soothe her. Yet, an inexplicable anxiety gnawed at his chest. Sienna had lost a lot of blood too. With her stubborn pride, would she even allow the doctors to treat her? Thinking of this, he couldn’t control himself anymore. He stood up to leave. But the door was pushed open before he could reach it. “Mom?” Seeing his mother walk in, Carter was stunned. But Victoria’s cold words made his face drain of all color. “Don’t bother going. Sienna is dead. You will never see her again.”

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I was on my honeymoon at the beach with my husband, but he was busy rubbing sunscreen all over his female bestie’s body. “Did you get a boob job recently? They feel pretty good.” Watching my husband’s hands linger on her chest and hips, my face remained perfectly calm as I crushed the plastic cup in my hand. But my husband, Austin, wasn’t happy about my reaction. He frowned and scolded me for being dramatic. “We always play around like this. Why do you have to overthink everything?” Brooke, his female bestie, threw me a provocative look. “Don’t be mad, Chloe. Austin and I have known each other since we were in diapers. We’ve seen everything. We’re literally just bros.” “Honestly, I hate that I was born a girl. If I had a choice, I’d seriously choose to be a guy just to avoid these annoying misunderstandings.” Austin wrapped his arm around her waist, shaking his head at me. “I really wish you could be more understanding, Chloe. Don’t ruin our friendship.” What they didn’t know was that I used to be a transmigrator. After I completed my final mission in my previous world, the System promised to grant me one wish. Since they loved being “bros” so much, I decided to fulfill Brooke’s deepest wish of becoming a real man.

“I wish to grant Brooke’s desire. Turn her into a real man.” The System replied instantly: [Due to the biological changes required, the gender transition will take seven days to complete.] In other words, in seven days, Brooke would completely become a man. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud right then and there. Brooke knew nothing about this. Instead, she hooked her arm around Austin’s neck, pulling him down against her chest. She laughed loudly, “Zack’s barbecue is almost ready, right? Let’s go. Bro is starving to death.” Austin rolled his eyes playfully, but he obediently let her drag him along. Even though I had seen this many times, my chest still tightened with a dull ache. As the sun set, turning the beach a deep twilight blue, everyone sat in a circle around the bonfire. I was about to sit down when Brooke quickly took the spot right next to Austin. “Oh, hope you don’t mind me sitting here, Chloe?” Before I could speak, Austin jumped in to defend her. “It’s just a seat, Chloe. Don’t be petty.” My face remained blank. I casually found another spot farther away. Austin’s expression stiffened for a moment, but his attention was quickly pulled back by Brooke’s loud chatter. When the platters of grilled food were brought over, Austin grabbed a skewer of grilled shrimp and handed it to me. “Your favorite seafood. Stop being mad.” I froze for a second, but reached out to take it. Brooke immediately pretended to be outraged, grabbing Austin’s ear. “You dog! Bros before hoes! Did you forget your bro is still hungry?” Austin grimaced in mock pain, quickly offering her a grilled chicken wing with both hands. The crowd laughed at their silly banter. I stared at the shrimp in my hand. It wasn’t until Ethan, who was sitting next to me, offered to trade his grilled squid for my shrimp that my eyes flickered. A guy I barely knew could see that I hated shrimp. Yet Austin, the man I had loved for four years, had no idea. Our years of history suddenly felt incredibly cheap. After dinner, everyone decided to play “Never Have I Ever.” After a few rounds of casual questions about work and life, it was Brooke’s turn. She smiled mischievously, looking straight at me. “Never have I ever watched a sex tape of Austin and Chloe.” The lively atmosphere instantly went dead silent. My brain went entirely numb. I stared at Austin in disbelief. He just laughed sheepishly and swatted Brooke’s shoulder. “Why are you bringing that up now?” Zack quickly tried to diffuse the tension. “Oh, you mean that video where Austin was drying Chloe’s hair in bed? We’ve all seen that! Drink up, guys!” “No, not that one!” Brooke stood up triumphantly, swaying her beer bottle. “Austin is way wilder than that in bed. Chloe screams so loud, you guys have no idea—” Austin stuffed a skewer into her mouth. “Shut up. We agreed to keep that private. Why are you spilling it now?” Brooke pouted. “So what? That’s how you play the game.” “Chloe is so cool, she definitely won’t mind.” “Besides, I’ve seen way juicier stuff. If you try to stop me again, I’ll tell them everything!” My ears buzzed, and my mind went blank. By the time I registered what I was doing, the beer bottle in my hand had already shattered violently over Brooke’s head.

The bottle actually exploded against Austin’s back. He had thrown himself over Brooke without a second thought. My eyes burned with unshed tears. He didn’t care about my pain at all; he just glared at me with pure rage. “Chloe! Can you stop acting like a spoiled brat?” “I brought you out to hang with my friends, and you can’t even take a joke? You’re such a buzzkill.” “If we weren’t already legally married, I would’ve called the cops on you! You seriously need to be locked up for a few days to clear your head.” Brooke stood up like a victorious queen. “Come on, Austin. Let’s go. I don’t want to hang out with dramatic little girls anyway. It’s exhausting.” Austin gave me a cold glare and walked away with her. The ocean breeze was freezing, but my heart was colder. The rest of the guys exchanged awkward glances, quickly made excuses, and left one by one. I was left sitting alone on the dark sand, staring at the endless horizon. For four years, I honestly thought Austin was the perfect partner. He remembered every anniversary. He hand-made gifts. Every Friday, a bouquet of flowers was delivered to my office, making my coworkers green with envy. If I casually mentioned a restaurant, he would drive me there the very next day. Our parents had met and approved. We had already signed the marriage license, and our big wedding ceremony was scheduled for next month. But all of his sweetness evaporated the moment Brooke was involved. When Brooke returned to the country, he lied to me to pick her up at the airport in the middle of the night. The lunches he packed for me? He packed one for her too, and hers was always noticeably nicer. On a rainy day, he told me he was too busy to pick me up. But as I walked home soaking wet, I saw him walking into an arcade with his arm draped over Brooke’s shoulder. Every time I got upset, he would dismiss it with the same line: “I literally view her as a dude. How could I ever be into her?” “We’re just bros. Stop being so toxic.” Since they claimed to be such great bros, I couldn’t wait to see how much closer they’d get once Brooke actually became a man. I let out a soft laugh. Suddenly, a roll of bandage appeared in front of my eyes. “Your hand is bleeding. Let me wrap it for you.” I looked down and realized my right hand had been cut by the broken glass. Blood was dripping onto the sand. When I didn’t move, Ethan knelt down, gently took my hand, and began wrapping the bandage around it. I thanked him. He didn’t leave. He just sat beside me, cracking open a beer. We sat there in silence all night, until the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen broke over the horizon. I took a picture and posted it on my Snapchat Story with the caption: “A fresh start.” When we got back to the hotel, we ran into Austin. He looked disheveled, stepping out of Brooke’s room. Seeing me, his face fell. He opened his mouth to explain, but Brooke popped out from behind him. Only one day had passed, but just as the System had promised, Brooke was already changing. The peach fuzz on her upper lip had darkened significantly, and her body hair looked much thicker. Yet, she seemed completely oblivious. She wrapped her arms around Austin’s. “Hey Chloe, Austin was such a beast in bed last night. You’re a lucky girl.” “Stop talking nonsense!” Austin pushed her hand away and rushed to my side. “Chloe, don’t misunderstand. We just played video games all night.” I looked down and noticed him nervously scratching his thigh—a nervous tick he always did when he was lying.

But now, I felt absolutely nothing. In a few days, he was going to regret everything he did last night. I swiped my keycard and opened my door. Austin squeezed in right behind me. “Okay, you went too far yesterday, but I guess I made some mistakes too… Let’s just call it even, okay? Stop being mad.” I nodded indifferently. Seeing this, he finally smiled. “Isn’t there a famous Ferris wheel nearby? You’ve been wanting to go. Let’s go this afternoon.” I paused. Before this trip, I had read a post saying that if a couple kisses at the very top of that Ferris wheel, they will stay together forever. When I begged him to go, he called me childish. Now, he was bringing it up himself. Just then, Brooke’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Hey Austin! Help me choose an outfit. I need to take some fire photos on the Ferris wheel this afternoon!” She pushed the door open, spinning around in a colorful dress. Ah. Now I got it. Austin’s eyes visibly lit up. “Whoa. You usually dress like a tomboy, but you actually look pretty hot in a dress.” Brooke punched his arm. “Shut up. I just don’t usually try. If I actually dress up, guys line up for me.” Watching them, I said coldly, “I’m not feeling well. I’ll pass on this afternoon.” Brooke rolled her eyes. “What a party pooper.” Austin, however, looked visibly relieved. He just told me to get some rest. I slept all afternoon. When I woke up, my phone was buzzing crazily. My best friend had sent me over 99 unread messages. I scrolled to the top. It was a screenshot of an Instagram post. At the highest point of the Ferris wheel, a man and a woman were kissing passionately. The caption read: *“Looking down at the city from the very top. At this moment, it feels like we are the only two people in the world.”* I recognized those two profiles all too well. The rest of the messages were angry 60-second voice notes. I tapped one, and my friend’s screaming blasted out: “Austin is a cheating piece of trash! Don’t stop me, I’m going to rip that b*tch’s face off!” It wasn’t until I explained my wish and the System to her that she finally burst into a satisfying laugh. The next day at lunch, Austin kept glancing at me, trying to gauge my reaction. Seeing that I was acting completely normal, he finally let out a sigh of relief. During the meal, Brooke was still flirting and playing with him. But suddenly, she gagged, covered her mouth, and rushed to the restroom. While everyone else was confused, Austin panicked and stood up, claiming he needed to use the restroom too. Seeing them slip away, I picked up my plate and casually walked toward the service area near the hallway. Brooke’s voice was trembling, almost crying. “I… my period is late by a week. What if I’m pregnant?!” “I told you to wear a condom! What are we going to do now? You have to take responsibility!” After a long pause, Austin’s soothing voice came. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.” I had to bite my lip hard to keep from laughing out loud. She thought she was pregnant, when in reality, the nausea was just the physical side effect of her body transforming into a male. According to my calculations, she had only three days left before the transformation was complete. I really couldn’t wait for that day to arrive.

Over the next few days, Brooke’s male characteristics became undeniable. Her skin grew rough and oily. Her Adam’s apple was visibly protruding, and her voice sounded incredibly deep and raspy. If she didn’t shave her mustache and leg hair daily, they would grow back thicker than her eyebrows. Brooke hysterically beat Austin’s chest. “It’s all your fault! This pregnancy is making me so ugly! When are you going to divorce that useless wife of yours?” Austin grabbed her hands, his voice determined. “Within three days, I’ll make sure we break up.” That night, he knocked on my door and tried to pick a fight over our wedding budget. “Chloe, about that $18,000 wedding budget… I really can’t afford it. Can you ask your parents to pay for the whole wedding? Or maybe we just skip the ceremony entirely?” Looking at his pathetic acting, I simply unlocked my phone and slid it over to him. It was a screenshot of our text messages from a few months ago. *“My girl deserves the absolute best. $18k is nothing. Even if it were $180k, I’d pay it.”* He choked on his words, stuttering after a long silence. “But… shouldn’t you be more considerate of me? It’s not easy for me to make money…” Before he could finish, I said gently, “I was just trying to save your pride by not bringing it up. Don’t worry, I’ll call my parents right now and tell them we’re canceling the wedding.” He shut his mouth, looking thoroughly frustrated. Over the next two days, he became even more insufferable, trying to start fights over the smallest things. If I didn’t like his Instagram post, he screamed at me. If I didn’t pour him a drink during dinner, he made a scene. Finally, he even accused me in front of all his friends of never contributing enough to our relationship. The friends were confused by his sudden toxic behavior, but they had to step in to keep the peace. Brooke looked at me with smug satisfaction. I knew Austin was trying to force me to break up with him so he could play the victim. But I didn’t expect him to go so far as to push me toward Ethan on our last night of the trip. He deliberately sat me next to Ethan, and during a party game, he practically forced me to sit on Ethan’s back while Ethan was doing push-ups. I ended up drinking way too much. When I finally woke up the next morning, I saw Ethan’s flushed face right next to me. Before I could even process what was happening, the hotel room door was kicked open violently. Blinding camera flashes went off, making my eyes water. Austin marched in with Brooke and a dozen local gossip photographers. He pointed at me, his face twisted in mock outrage and embarrassment. “Chloe! How could you do this to me? After four years, you cheated on me with my own friend!” “We are getting a divorce! You are the guilty party, and you will get absolutely nothing!” He threw a divorce agreement onto the bed, forcing a pen into my hand. There was no doubt about it—Ethan and I had been set up. Austin didn’t just want a divorce; he wanted to ruin my reputation completely, making me look like a cheating whore so he could walk away with all our joint assets. Behind me, Ethan’s voice was raspy. “I’m so sorry, Chloe…” “Don’t apologize,” I interrupted him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” I flipped through the agreement. Looking at the absurd clauses, I rolled my eyes, threw the papers right back into Austin’s face, and said coldly: “We can divorce. But the one walking away with nothing is going to be you.” Brooke crossed her arms, looking incredibly smug. “Oh, you think you have a choice? If you don’t sign, we’ll leak these photos to the media tomorrow. Let’s see how you survive then!” The smirk on Austin’s face was unbearable. “Chloe, I recall your dad has a severe heart condition. I wonder how he’ll feel when he sees these.” Knowing the cameras were rolling, he kept his threat subtle. “I’ll give you three days. If you don’t sign, you’re finished!” He wrapped his arm around Brooke’s waist. Brooke gave me a haughty look. “It’s your own fault for not appreciating him. Austin is mine now!” Once they stepped out of the room, Austin whispered excitedly, “Yes! We’re going to get all her money!” Brooke looked at him with pure adoration, leaning in to kiss his lips. “Austin, you are so amazing!” Austin’s eyes darkened with lust, and he pulled her in for a passionate kiss. Now that they had gotten what they wanted, their desires flared up. They began tearing off each other’s clothes in the hallway. Austin’s hand slid down her body, tracing her curves. But the next second, he let out a horrified shriek. “What the hell is that bulge?!”

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When I was wheeled into the sterile isolation room, my body ravaged by leukemia, my mother was busy begging her adopted daughter, Natasha, not to donate her bone marrow to me. On the surface, Natasha pretended to be the bigger person. But right when the chemo had wiped out most of my immune system, she sent me a text: “I faint at the sight of blood, so I can’t do it. Sorry.” “Why don’t you just die?” Later, I did exactly what they wanted. I died. But my mother went completely insane. “You’re backing out?!” “She is in critical condition right now! We can only keep her stable for another two days. Any further delay is a death sentence!” I forced my eyes open with great effort. Through the glass, I could see my primary physician shouting desperately into his phone. Don’t bother, I wanted to tell him. They won’t come. Because today was Natasha’s period. My mother always said that Natasha had a weak constitution and shouldn’t set foot in a depressing place like a hospital. Especially not for someone as insignificant as me. The oxygen mask felt freezing cold against my face. I couldn’t make a sound. Yet, a pathetic sliver of hope lingered in my chest. I strained my ears, trying to catch my mother’s voice through the receiver. Maybe… just maybe, seeing that I was on the brink of death, she would love me for once. But almost instantly, my mother’s cold, impatient voice shattered my illusion: “Is this about Audrey again? Are you two ever going to stop?” “First, she fakes an illness because she wants to ruin Natasha’s health with a transplant. Now she’s hiring actors to play doctors?” “She only has two phone calls left that I’ll actually answer this year. Tell her to stop wasting them.” She sounded so eager to hang up, not wanting to give me even a second to respond. That was when Natasha spoke up. Her voice had that familiar, sweet, gentle tone, but every word was laced with poison: “Mom, don’t be mad at Audrey. She’s just… immature.” Hearing her “understanding” adoptive daughter speak, my mother’s anger flared even hotter: “She’s an adult, yet she still reeks of that low-class, trailer-park vibe. And she’s proud of it!” Her coldness was dripping with disgust. How could a mother speak about her own biological daughter this way? But then again, this was the same woman who, when I was born, found me too “wrinkly and ugly.” She paid a massive bribe to swap me with a three-month-old baby in the next bassinet. If she could do that, what else was she not capable of? Of course, as a ruthless, highly successful corporate CEO, she had left a backdoor open. If I proved to be exceptional enough upon reaching adulthood, she would acknowledge me as her daughter. If only… I hadn’t gotten sick. “But Audrey is sick, Mom. If her adoptive mother in that run-down town finds out, she’ll accuse us of abuse again,” Natasha said, her voice dropping into a worried, dim tone. This immediately triggered my mother’s protective instincts. “Did that trashy woman harass you again?” Eleanor snapped. “There’s a massive flu outbreak in that trashy town right now anyway. If she actually catches it, she’ll be dead soon. Audrey should just hurry up and die too.” When Natasha heard her biological mother’s dire situation, she actually let out a soft, stifled laugh. Why? Why did a person like her get to be showered with love? My ragged breaths fogged up the oxygen mask, condensing into cold droplets. Drip. It fell right onto my chest, which was trembling in agony.

My adoptive mother, Sophie Miller—who was actually Natasha’s biological mother—had told me the truth ever since I was old enough to understand. I wasn’t her real daughter. She had given away her sick child with a congenital heart defect. “If she stayed with me, she wouldn’t have made it to ten. With a rich family, she had a fighting chance…” Sophie said she owed both of us a lifetime of apologies. But I felt incredibly lucky to have spent those years with her. She was illiterate, but she begged every school kid in our small town to teach me. It wasn’t until I was three that she pointed at a word in a borrowed book and gave me my name. “You’re going to grow up beautiful, learn every word in the world, and make everyone jealous of you.” But did a child like me, discarded by her own flesh and blood, really deserve such a future? I never complained. I was terrified of failing her expectations… terrified that she, too, would abandon me. I clawed my way up from the dirt, desperately trying to grab onto any stable branch on the edge of the cliff. Finally, at eighteen, I succeeded. A fleet of expensive luxury SUVs rolled into our dusty small town. My biological mother, Eleanor Clement, stood among them, though her expensive designer suit couldn’t outshine the sheer awe of the scene. People shook my hand with fake smiles, offering empty congratulations, their eyes already scanning for what they could gain from me. I didn’t care about any of them. I only looked at the woman at the back. Eleanor wore a sharp corporate blazer. She stepped close, slid off her sunglasses, and offered a faint, polite smile. “Audrey, right? I’m here to take you home.” That day, I thought I had finally made it to the top of the cliff. I thought I had finally reached solid ground. I thought I would finally receive love that didn’t require me to perform, to earn, or to beg. A mother’s love. Unconditional. Mine. I looked at her with pure, adoration-filled eyes. But she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead. I forced myself to calm down and followed her gaze to the end of the paved driveway. A beautiful girl was standing there. Her skin was milky white, entirely free of the calluses and roughness I had developed from working under the scorching sun. She spoke in a soft, melodic purr, nothing like my raspy voice, which had grown harsh from shouting at flea markets to make a buck. She had the confidence of someone raised by the most expensive private tutors. With just a fraction of the effort, she could attend the same elite schools as me. She was… better than me in every single way. The moment Eleanor saw her, a genuine smile lit up her face. “Natasha, meet your sister.” I stood frozen, refusing to budge. Almost defiantly, I stared at her. “My name is Audrey!” Natasha offered a sweet smile, but in a split second only I could see, her expression turned into pure contempt. “Nice to meet you. I’m Natasha.” Eleanor smiled and ruffled her hair. “Alright, sweetheart. I only brought you along because you insisted on meeting your sister right away.” “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have let you come. This place is filthy, and your health is too delicate.” It felt like a heavy, suffocating net falling over me, leaving me nowhere to run. Instinctively, I looked back at Sophie. Sophie wiped her eyes, waving at me excitedly. “Go on, baby! Go!” “…Mom.” I didn’t even know which mother I was calling out to. I could only wipe away my tears in a rush as Natasha linked her arm through Eleanor’s and climbed into the car. Why was I crying? Sophie must have been wrong. I must be angry at her for lying to me for so many years. The one born for royalty was clearly Natasha. It was never me.

In the eerie silence of the hospital room, the dial tone from the hung-up call buzzed in my ears, making my head throb. The doctor let out a heavy sigh and quietly walked out. Amidst the constant beeping of the heart monitor, I forced myself to sit up. For the little time I had left, I didn’t want to spend it rotting in a hospital bed. That phone call had been so final. The doctor had hesitated several times before saying, “If there’s still hope, I’ll contact you immediately.” This was the first warmth I had felt since moving to the city. It didn’t come from my mother, but from a total stranger. I let out a bitter laugh, wrapped myself in a thick coat, and slipped out of the hospital. It wasn’t actually that cold outside. By the time I reached the art gallery, I was drenched in sweat. The doorknob was covered in dust. Strangely, the door was unlocked. I pushed it open with a gentle nudge. This gallery was my only solace. When I got my acceptance letter from Harvard, it generated a lot of positive PR for Eleanor’s company. She had smiled and asked me what I wanted as a reward. I wanted to go to the amusement park with her—a place I had only ever seen in books. I wanted to go camping with her, just the two of us. But Natasha had stared at me with such intensity that the words died in my throat. I could only clutch the hem of my shirt and whisper, “I don’t know.” The moment the words left my mouth, Natasha laughed. “We’re family now, Audrey. There’s no need to be so calculating, acting like you’re afraid of being shortchanged.” “I get that you just came from a trailer park and still have that petty mindset, but let me tell you, love can’t be bought with money…” Her words made Eleanor’s face darken instantly. “The poverty mindset is practically oozing out of her. How did someone like this even get a Harvard offer?” I opened my mouth to explain, but Eleanor wouldn’t hear a word of it. “You just want money, don’t you?” “I’ll give you a commercial storefront. Do whatever you want with it, but stop trying to guilt-trip me.” That night, I stayed up late, crouching outside Eleanor’s bedroom door, hoping she would give me a chance to explain. I wasn’t trying to guilt-trip her. I wasn’t greedy. I was just… a little jealous. But I promised myself I wouldn’t be anymore. I would get along with Natasha. I would treat her like a real sister. We could go to the amusement park together. But I never got the chance to say those words. Natasha had handed me a box earlier that day, claiming it was a gift from Eleanor and telling me to open it in my room. I had excitedly pulled out a beautiful, glowing crystal specimen. The faint, shifting light was so mesmerizing that it made my nose bleed. I quickly wiped the blood off the crystal and put it back. This was the first gift Eleanor had ever given me. I couldn’t ruin it. But the next second, my vision went black, and I collapsed. When I woke up, the doctors told me I had advanced leukemia. I didn’t have much time left. At the time, Natasha had visited me, clinging to Eleanor’s arm. “You were perfectly healthy back in the country. Now that Mom is pampering you with luxury, you suddenly get cancer?” “Audrey, stop throwing tantrums.” “If my existence pains you so much that you have to stage this dramatic illness to drive me away, I can just leave! I’ll give Mom back to you!” She wept bitterly, her entire body shaking with victimhood, looking as if she might faint from sheer grief. I stared at her coldly. Such a pathetic, obvious lie. Eleanor should have seen right through it. Yet, Eleanor immediately grabbed Natasha to comfort her. She looked at me, her eyes filled with cold disappointment. “Audrey, you utterly disgust me.” “Until you learn to stop bullying Natasha, you are only allowed to call me three times a year.” Now, I only had two calls left. I sighed as I walked deeper into the gallery. This place used to be filled with my paintings, but now, every single one of them had been defaced with red spray paint. Several ruined canvases were lined up to spell out a message: Do you like the gift Natasha gave you? Even if I told Eleanor, she wouldn’t believe me. Holding my breath, I dialed Eleanor’s number for the second time. “Mom, can you spend my birthday with me tomorrow?”

Tomorrow wasn’t actually my birthday. My birthday had passed months ago, unnoticed and uncelebrated by anyone. But let me manipulate her just this once. A long silence stretched over the line before Eleanor finally let out a heavy sigh. “Address.” I gave her the address of the gallery. Then, with agonizing effort, I stood up, cleared away the ruined canvases, and swept the floor. For our final meeting, let’s keep it clean. Let’s leave a decent impression on each other. I must have drifted off to sleep at some point. When I woke up, Eleanor and Natasha were already standing in front of me. Natasha puckered her lips, tears welling in her eyes. “Audrey, are you doing this on purpose to make Mom think I’m abusing you?” “Mom is incredibly busy with the company. I spent so much time convincing her to come, and I even prepared a gift for you…” I leaned heavily against the wall, barely managing to withstand the blinding pain wracking my body. Eleanor stared at my abnormally pale face, a flicker of hesitation crossing her eyes. For the first time, she didn’t immediately flare up at me to defend Natasha. Instead, she rubbed the bridge of her nose, looking genuinely exhausted. “Let’s sit down first.” I stayed glued to the wall. It hurt too much. Every movement pulled at a deep, bottomless well of despair. If only someone loved me… or if I could just drop dead right here. But nothing happened. Natasha and Eleanor began chatting like a pair of close friends. They talked about how Eleanor’s work had been stressful lately. A highly classified, hazardous radioactive isotope sample had gone missing from her bio-tech research lab. The question I wanted to ask—Did you not bring a cake for me?—was swallowed back into my stomach. It didn’t matter. I had a more important goal today. I pulled out the pages of a journal entry I had found, written in Natasha’s handwriting. “I suddenly found the gift Natasha gave me for my birthday earlier.” The perfect mask on Natasha’s face finally cracked. She bolted upright, knocking her chair backward. Forgetting to maintain her sweet image in front of Eleanor, she lunged forward, snatched the papers from my hands, and ripped them into shreds. “Liar! I never gave you anything like this!” I looked at Eleanor, my expression utterly blank. “So you mean… this was the gift I supposedly sent to Mom…” Only then did Natasha realize she had reacted far too violently. “What is wrong with both of you?!” Eleanor slammed her hand on the table, visibly irritated by the sudden chaos. Before I could speak, Natasha shot me a warning, icy glare. The next second, she beat me to it: “Mom, I think Audrey just wanted some sisterly bonding time, which is why she played this little prank.” Eleanor gave Natasha a suspicious look, but her phone started ringing. “Whatever. I don’t have time for your childish games.” The moment Eleanor stepped out of the room to take the call, Natasha abandoned all pretense. She lunged, wrapping both hands tightly around my neck, pinning me against the wall. “Audrey! I don’t care what you think you know. You will never beat me!” I had never wanted to fight her. I was only terrified that she would do something to hurt Eleanor. But as Natasha squeezed harder, my vision began to darken. I guess I wouldn’t be able to warn Eleanor after all. That was my last thought before I blacked out. “I already showed her the stone! By all accounts… she should have died of cancer long ago!” When my consciousness drifted back in waves, I saw Natasha pacing the room, frantically speaking into her phone. I didn’t know whether to praise my own stubborn body for refusing to die, or to marvel at how I always happened to wake up at the worst possible moments. “I stole it directly from Mom’s lab! Of course it’s real!” “With her pathetic, sentimental personality, she must have kept it close to her every single day. The cancer should have progressed way faster!” Through the haze, it clicked. I recalled seeing news reports about people getting terminal illnesses from being in close proximity to radioactive elements. I never imagined… Natasha was the one behind it all.

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The comatose billionaire husband I married on behalf of Vivian—Hudson Harrington—had suddenly woken up. The moment he opened his eyes, he transferred a insulting $0.77 to my bank account. Meanwhile, he sent a staggering $7.7 million to Vivian, who was standing right by his hospital bed. I kept quiet, but he chose to humiliate me in front of everyone. “You’re nothing but a placeholder, Michelle. Don’t flatter yourself by dreaming about things that don’t belong to you.” “The Harrington family has money to burn, but I’d rather set it on fire than give a single dime to a deceitful substitute like you.” “Take your seventy-seven cents and get the hell out of my house.” I didn’t argue. I calmly signed the divorce papers and walked away with absolutely nothing. Five years later, we ran into each other at a prestigious, high-end art exhibition. He was dressed in a pristine bespoke suit, looking more powerful and sharp than ever. As for me? I was kneeling on the cold floor, carefully using a microfiber cloth to wipe away a stain from the corner of a painting. His eyes flared with cold disdain. “Michelle? Look at you. Did leaving me really reduce you to a pathetic gallery janitor?” “Don’t even bother begging. I wouldn’t give you a single penny even if you starved in front of me.” I didn’t even look up. I just kept my focus, gently dabbing away the last bit of the smudge.

In the center of the exhibition hall, Hudson stood tall, surrounded by a crowd of sycophants. Over the past five years, he had expanded the Harrington Group into an absolute empire. People were practically tripping over themselves to flatter him. “Mr. Harrington, are you here for the masterpiece of the legendary artist, Atalanta?” “I heard the starting bid for The Departure is in the eight figures. If you secure it, the Harrington Group’s dominance in the art investment world will be untouchable.” Hudson gave a curt nod. His eyes weren’t on the painting, though. They were locked dead on me. Standing beside him was Vivian, wearing an elegant champagne silk gown. Her makeup was flawless, and she smiled softly, resting her hand on his arm. “Hudson has always had impeccable taste in art. We’re just here to browse today.” Despite her modest words, her eyes practically dripped with smugness. Hudson’s face darkened with irritation. He looked at me as if my very existence was a stain on his perfect evening. I remained kneeling, completely focused on the canvas. A crying child had run past a moment ago, accidentally brushing their chocolate ice cream against the bottom corner of the painting. “Excuse me, ma’am! This is a high-profile exhibition. Please step away from the artwork immediately!” A gallery manager in a sharp suit rushed over, his voice sharp and tense. He took one look at my simple white t-shirt, faded jeans, and the faint paint smudges on my fingers. His eyes practically flared with hostility. “I’m sorry, but the painting was smudged. I’m just cleaning it up,” I explained quietly. The manager’s face fell. “This painting is worth tens of millions! You’re ‘cleaning’ it? Can you even begin to comprehend the liability here?” “Get up, now! Don’t ruin the experience for our VIP guests.” Though he didn’t yell, his voice was loud enough to draw a crowd. Within seconds, every eye in the gallery was fixed on me. Right then, Hudson strolled over, with Vivian clinging tightly to his arm. Our eyes met. His gaze was colder than ice, filled with utter disgust. “Michelle?” The manager blinked, looking at Hudson. “Mr. Harrington, you know her?” Hudson let out a cold, dismissive sneer. “Just a desperate relative who would do absolutely anything for money. We don’t know each other.” With that, he looked away, as if looking at me for another second would rot his brain. Vivian immediately tightened her grip on his arm, putting on a show of mock pity. “Michelle, why on earth are you working a job like this?” “I know you were bitter when you had to leave the Harrington estate, but you didn’t have to degrade yourself like this.” “Being a cleaner isn’t shameful, of course. But doing it at a high-end gallery like this? Aren’t you a bit out of your depth?” Her words instantly sealed my fate as a “pathetic, desperate cleaner” in everyone’s eyes. The manager’s face twisted in disgust. He reached out to grab my arm. “Get out of here! Stop making a scene. If you ruin our gallery’s reputation, you won’t survive the lawsuit!” I dodged his hand, my voice turning icy. “I told you, I can fix this. If there’s any damage, I will take full responsibility.” He let out a harsh laugh. “Responsibility? With what? You could sell your kidney and still not afford a single inch of this canvas!” He reached out to grab me again. I ignored him entirely. I pulled a specialized fine brush and a small bottle of organic solvent from my canvas tote bag, carefully working on the stubborn spot. Hudson’s brows furrowed deeply. He probably thought this was another one of my elaborate stunts to win back his attention.

“Enough.” Hudson’s deep, commanding voice cut through the whispers. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his checkbook, scribbled a figure, tore it off, and flicked it at my feet. “One hundred thousand dollars. That’s probably more than you make in a year. Take it and get out of my sight.” He looked down at me, his eyes entirely devoid of warmth. “Stop using these pathetic, low-class tricks to get my attention, Michelle. You’re just as repulsive as you were five years ago.” Vivian immediately chimed in, her voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “Hudson, you’re always too soft-hearted. If you give her money now, she’ll just stalk you with even crazier stunts next time.” She then turned to me, a smug smile playing on her lips. “Just take it, Michelle. Hudson and I are getting engaged soon, and I really don’t want your drama stressing him out.” Engaged? I felt a brief flash of surprise. They had been dragging this out for five years, and they still hadn’t tied the knot? I finally looked up from the canvas, glancing at the check lying on the floor, then straight into Hudson’s eyes. “I don’t want your money.” My rejection was like a physical slap to his face. His expression turned instantly venomous. “Don’t play hard to get, Michelle. Do you think you’re starring in some indie movie about a girl with morals?” “In my eyes, you are nothing but a clown.” “Back then, you threw a tantrum and left over seventy-seven cents. Now I offer you a hundred grand, and you’re acting like you’re too good for it?” As soon as he said that, a wave of suppressed chuckles rippled through the crowd. “Seventy-seven cents? Mr. Harrington, you’ve got to be kidding.” “So she’s a gold digger who threw a fit over pennies? No wonder she ended up cleaning floors.” Vivian covered her mouth, giggling like a schoolgirl, her eyes flashing with absolute victory. I ignored the whispers and kept my hands steady. The ice cream was starting to melt into the delicate paint layers. If I didn’t treat it right now, the artificial dyes would permanently bind to the canvas fibers, ruining the piece forever. Seeing that I was completely ignoring her, Vivian’s eyes gleamed with malice. She took a step forward, suddenly “tripped” over her own feet, let out a dramatic gasp, and threw her entire glass of red wine straight at the painting! “Oh my god!” someone gasped. The deep red liquid splashed violently across the pristine, snowy-white canvas. The Departure was instantly ruined. The gallery manager’s face drained of color. He pointed a shaking finger at me, his voice cracking with sheer panic. “You! You crazy bitch! Look at what you’ve done!” Vivian immediately shrank back behind Hudson, squeezing out a few tears. “Hudson, I didn’t mean to… It was her! She deliberately stuck her foot out and tripped me!” Every eye in the room shot toward me. Just like that, I was framed as the villain who had destroyed a multi-million-dollar masterpiece.

“Call the police!” The manager screamed, frantically pulling out his phone. “This is Atalanta’s absolute masterpiece! The crown jewel of our exhibition! You are going to prison for this!” Hudson watched the chaos unfold, a cold, satisfied smirk touching his lips. “Is this what you wanted, Michelle? Ruining a masterpiece just to get back at me?” He slowly walked up to the ruined canvas, staring at the ugly red stain, and shook his head. “Too bad your little plan backfired. I’m buying this painting.” He turned to the trembling manager. “Name your price. Ruined or not, I’m taking it.” He cast one last, sweeping look of pure disgust at me. “As for her, throw her out. I don’t ever want to see her face again.” The crowd erupted into murmurs of admiration. “Mr. Harrington is incredibly generous! Buying a ruined multi-million-dollar painting just like that!” “That cleaner got ridiculously lucky. If Mr. Harrington doesn’t press charges, she won’t have to rot in prison.” Vivian clung to Hudson’s arm, letting out a relieved sigh. “Oh, Hudson. You’re so good to me. I knew you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.” She looked at me over her shoulder, her eyes screaming: See? Even if I burn this place to the ground, Hudson will clean up my mess. And you? You’re just a stray dog waiting for our scraps. The manager looked like he had just been handed a lifeline. He bowed repeatedly. “Mr. Harrington, you are a saint! Since the painting is… well, damaged, how about we settle for fifty percent of the starting bid…?” “No.” I stood up, my voice cutting through the noise like a knife. Once again, all eyes locked onto me. “This painting is not for sale.” Hudson’s expression hardened instantly. “Michelle, what right do you have to say no? Who do you think you are?” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice steady. “I said, this. Painting. Is. Not. For. Sale.” “Ha!” Vivian laughed hysterically. “Michelle, have you completely lost your mind? You’re a literal janitor. What makes you think you have any say in what this gallery sells?” She turned to the manager, her voice sharp. “Manager, why are you still standing there?” “Mr. Harrington is doing your gallery a massive favor by buying this garbage! Kick this crazy woman out!” The manager snapped out of his shock and quickly waved over two burly security guards. “Drag her out! Now!” The guards stepped forward, reaching for my shoulders. I watched them approach, my heart turning cold. Five years ago, Hudson’s family security had dragged me out of their mansion just like this. Five years later, they wanted history to repeat itself. Just as their hands were about to touch me, a calm, authoritative voice echoed from the back of the crowd. “Don’t touch her.”

The crowd parted instantly. A man in a crisp, tailored white linen shirt walked forward. He carried an aura of quiet, understated elegance, yet his presence commanded the entire room. “Mr. Roberts!” The manager’s knees practically buckled. He looked like he was about to drop to his knees. “You… what are you doing here?” The man was Charles Roberts, a world-renowned curator, the organizer of this very exhibition, and the sole global agent of the mysterious legendary painter, “Atalanta.” Charles completely ignored the manager. He walked straight up to me, his eyes softening as he looked at the ruined painting. “What happened, Michelle?” he asked gently, his tone laced with genuine concern. Before I could speak, Vivian jumped in to play the victim. “Mr. Roberts! Thank goodness you’re here!” “This cleaner not only messed up the painting earlier, but she also tripped me on purpose, causing me to spill my wine all over it!” “Hudson was kind enough to offer to buy it to cover the loss, but she’s actively blocking the sale!” Hudson stepped forward, offering a polite nod to Charles. He lowered his usual arrogant posture significantly. “Mr. Roberts, it was just a minor accident. I’ll buy the painting at full price. Let’s consider it a gesture of goodwill.” He clearly wanted to showcase his wealth and status to impress Charles. Charles’s gaze swept coldly over Hudson and Vivian, before landing back on me. His eyes held a silent question. “I can restore it,” I said simply. “What?” Hudson scoffed loudly. “Michelle, are you insane? Do you have any idea whose work this is?” “This is Atalanta’s work! The most mysterious and highly valued artist of our generation!” “And you claim you can restore it? Who do you think you are?” “Stop embarrassing yourself. You’re only making me despise you more.” But Charles smiled.

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During our winter hiking trip in the Aspen mountains, my foster brother, Julian, deliberately pushed me, breaking my leg. But my parents left me behind in the freezing snow, running a high fever and unable to walk, just to rush Julian to the hospital for his minor scratches. I held onto my dad’s coat, sobbing and begging them to take me with them. But my mom coldly slapped my hand away. “Julian is bleeding so much, and all you care about is competing for our attention?” “How did I give birth to such a malicious son? Stay here by yourself and think about what you’ve done!” They walked away with Julian, never once looking back at me. I dragged my broken left leg, desperately trying to crawl after them, only to collapse helplessly into the freezing, deep snow. Days later, when Julian was discharged from the hospital, they finally remembered me. They had no idea that on the very day they left, an avalanche had already buried me deep beneath the snow. I died. I died because the avalanche hit, and with a broken leg, I couldn’t run. After my death, my soul somehow ended up floating right next to my dad. He was standing anxiously in the hospital room, looking at Julian on the bed with eyes full of distress. “Julian, the doctor said it’s a good thing we got you here in time. You’re going to be completely fine.” “Just rest now. We’ll go home once you’re fully recovered.” Then, he turned to look at the snow-capped mountains outside the window, his eyes burning with anger. “If it weren’t for Leo dragging us on this stupid trip, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt and ended up in a hospital bed!” “When he gets back, I’ll make him get down on his knees and beg for your forgiveness!” My mom was hovering over the monitors, terrified that Julian’s vitals might drop even a little. Her eyes were red from crying. “That brat knew Julian has a weak heart, yet he insisted on hiking in the snow.” “And here I thought Leo was finally trying to be a good brother. It was a setup all along!” Watching this, my ghost felt a sharp, stabbing pain where my heart used to be. Mom, that’s not true. This trip was Julian’s idea. You both agreed to it! I had been sickly since I was a kid. I hated the cold and hated climbing. But Julian said he wanted to take a family photo in the mountains. So you forced me to come, calling me dramatic when I resisted. Julian was the son of my dad’s late army buddy. Dad felt so guilty about his friend’s death that he treated Julian better than his own flesh and blood. Ever since we were kids, I had to give up everything for Julian. Anything my parents bought for me, Julian would take. If I fought back, my parents would scream at me for being selfish and not caring for Julian. Over time, I became a people-pleaser. I stopped fighting back, hoping that if I was good enough, my parents would love me again. This trip was supposed to be different. Julian had deliberately stepped on and shattered the vintage pocket watch Grandma Ruth left me before she died. It was the only thing I had left of her. I was so heartbroken that my parents finally felt a shred of guilt. They promised to take me to the beach. The beach—a place they had promised to take me a thousand times but never did. But at the last minute, Julian said he wanted to see the snow. So they changed the destination instantly. They even dragged me along just because Julian said it wouldn’t feel like a family without me. And now, somehow, it was all my fault. Up on the mountain, I had begged my parents to turn back because my leg was throbbing. But they only saw the tiny scratch on Julian’s ankle. My mom had screamed at me, “Leo, Julian is bleeding! Why do you always have to make everything about yourself?” Julian had feigned tears, whispering, “It doesn’t hurt, Mom. Leo didn’t mean to push me.” My parents looked at the tiny drop of blood on Julian’s leg, then glared at me like I was a monster. “Leo, did you plan this whole thing?” “How did we raise such a wicked child?” With that, my dad picked Julian up and they hurried down the mountain. I cried, begging them not to leave me. But they said I was acting to cover up my “crime.” No matter how much I pleaded, they wouldn’t listen. They told me to walk down by myself as a punishment. After they left, I dragged my broken leg through the snow, my body shivering from a raging fever, trying to crawl my way down. But just as I was close to the exit, the mountain roared. An avalanche came down. I remember the sheer despair. The heavy snow crushed my bones, and the freezing cold sucked the last bit of warmth from my body. In my final moments, I stared in the direction my parents had gone. If they find out I died here, will they be even a little sad? Will they give me a fraction of the love they gave Julian, once I’m gone?

In the hospital, I watched my parents cater to Julian’s every whim for days. My mom cooked gourmet meals and brought them to his bedside every day. My dad bought him the newest PlayStation as a reward for “being so brave.” During those days, they completely forgot I existed. All their love and attention went to Julian. My soul felt a cold, bitter ache. It wasn’t until Julian was discharged a week later that my parents finally remembered they had another son. “Where is Leo? Why isn’t he here to pick us up?” My dad grumbled, his face darkening. “He’s probably hiding because he knows he’s in trouble for hurting Julian,” my mom said with a sigh of disgust. “Well, we’ve ignored him for a week. He should know his place by now. Call him and tell him to get over here.” Dad pulled out his phone and dialed my number. But to their surprise, the call went straight to voicemail. Usually, whenever they called, I would answer within seconds. I was always terrified of missing their calls. But now, after three consecutive calls, the phone remained dead. My parents frowned, a slight flicker of unease crossing their faces. Standing beside them, Julian lowered his head, acting incredibly guilty. “Is Leo still mad at me? Does he hate me for taking up your time? I’m sorry…” My dad’s face hardened instantly. He shoved his phone into his pocket and sneered. “He’s got some nerve. He actually turned his phone off!” Mom gnashed her teeth in anger. “That brat! He’s throwing a tantrum because we left him on the mountain. He’s doing this on purpose!” Dad’s eyes flashed with rage. “He wants us to worry. He wants us to beg him to come home! I see right through his little games.” Mom scoffed. “He’s getting sneakier. He thinks he can manipulate us now.” She grabbed Julian’s hand and started walking toward the front desk, her voice cold. “Come on, Julian. Let’s ignore him and sign the discharge papers.” “He wants to keep his phone off? Fine. Let’s see how long he can last.” I stared at Julian, my ghostly chest tightening with rage. He was still playing them, still driving the wedge deeper. But my parents always chose to believe him. They always would. I clutched my chest as a phantom pain washed over me, and I collapsed onto the hospital floor. While they were signing the papers, my girlfriend, Chloe, burst through the hospital doors, panting and frantic. She ran up to my parents, her face pale. “Something happened to Leo!”

My parents froze for a second. Chloe gasped for breath, tears welling in her eyes. “I haven’t been able to reach him for days! He’s missing!” Looking at Chloe’s terrified face, my soul wept. There was no signal on the mountain. I couldn’t even send her a text before the snow took my life. But the worry on my parents’ faces vanished instantly, replaced by sheer annoyance. My mom rolled her eyes. “Chloe, don’t let him fool you. That brat did something terrible to Julian and shut his phone off to avoid us.” “He’s just hiding because he’s a coward. Don’t waste your energy on him.” Chloe shook her head violently. “No, you don’t understand! We had a movie date yesterday. Leo never breaks his promises. Never! But yesterday, his phone was completely dead…” My dad cut her off, his voice sharp and dismissive. “Enough. Leo loves playing these pathetic victim games.” “Who knows where he’s hiding, waiting for us to go look for him? He wants attention.” Julian stepped forward, looking incredibly apologetic. “I know Leo hates me. If he comes back, I’ll apologize to him. I’ll do whatever he wants.” Hearing Julian’s voice made my blood boil. I rushed in front of him, screaming at his face. For years, I did everything to please you! My parents gave you everything, and I let you! Why did you have to kill me?! But no one could hear me. No one could see me. My dad’s expression softened as he looked at Julian, his anger toward me growing. “Julian, stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault. Leo has always been a rotten kid.” “If he wants to hide, let him. Even if he dies out there, I won’t shed a single tear.” Mom added angrily, “Exactly! When he finally crawls back, he’s going to get down on his knees and apologize to Julian!” Chloe stared at them, her jaw dropping in utter disbelief. She couldn’t believe these words were coming from my parents. Her eyes turned red, and she screamed, “Do you even know Leo?! He is nothing like what you’re describing!” “He is the kindest, most honest person I know!” “How can you say those things about him? Are you even his real parents?!” Chloe’s voice echoed in the hallway. I felt a tear slip down my ghostly face. In this entire world, she was the only one who truly knew me. The only one who loved me. But my dad only sneered. “I don’t know him? He’s selfish and petty! If it weren’t for him, Julian wouldn’t have been hurt!” Mom chimed in. “You’ve been blinded by his act, Chloe. He loves manipulating people.” “I want to see how long he can keep this up!” Standing in the cold hospital hallway, I felt like my soul was being ripped apart. So this was what I was to them. A selfish, manipulative liar. Chloe was shaking with rage. She pointed a finger at my mom. “You are going to kill him! I’m calling the police!” Dad let out a dry, angry laugh. “Call them! I want the cops to find him. Let’s see if they throw him in jail for pushing Julian!” At the mention of the police, Julian’s face went completely white. He quickly grabbed my dad’s sleeve, his voice trembling. “Dad… actually, maybe I remembered it wrong. I think I just tripped. Leo didn’t push me.” Then, he looked at Chloe with a pleading expression. “Chloe, please don’t call the police. Leo is just throwing a tantrum. We shouldn’t waste police resources over a family issue.” But Chloe wasn’t buying it. She glared at Julian, her eyes piercing. “Why are you so scared of the police, Julian? What are you hiding?”

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